Dry Your Wings
by Hermia S
Summary: 50 prompts; focused around the relationship between Líadan Cousland and her mage.
1. Toy

**A/N: **Hello! So, as most of you are well aware, when your attention gets snagged by a character, they tend to refuse to let go. It happened to me with Cailan in Origins, and it's happened again with Anders. I felt I should funnel this love into something decidedly more light-hearted than "The Beacon," in an attempt to keep myself from going crazy. There's only so much angst a girl can handle, yeah? But that's not saying that these will all be cute drabbles. While most of them will be on the brighter side of things, there will also be darker, more introverted ones, as well. And they won't all be quite so long, either. Length will vary from prompt to prompt. :)

That said, I hope you enjoy these!

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**Prompt : Toy**

The afternoon sky in Denerim was a mixture of deep blues and was surprisingly cloudless. Despite her distance from the window, Lía was well aware of the state of the weather due to her insatiable appetite for movement. She wasn't the sort of woman to sit around and wait, especially since the reason she was stuck in this room was late in returning. She fidgeted and squirmed and paced, and once the innkeeper had knocked at the door, rousing her out of her stupor only to have her hopes come crashing down around her.

Now, her nose was nestled in a hardbound volume of Antivan poetry, her ankles crossed and her shoulders pulled back as she leaned against the arm of the chair. She'd read the last stanza over five times - something about his Orlesian love and her horse-faced mother - but she'd yet to absorb the words and continue.

"For my love is like the first warm rain of summer," she murmured to herself, brows knitting as she strained to focus. "Warm, gentle; enveloping. And her mother is like the sun that dries the petals, suffocates them." Pausing, she flipped to the next page, relatively unimpressed with what she found as she sifted through the book. "He must really dislike her mother."

She was halfway through a poem about his attempting to poison the woman when she heard the latch on the door open. Numbing herself against the encroaching hope that he'd returned, her eyes drifted up the page, hardly catching the words as she did so.

But it was him, and he was standing there looking _outrageously_ pleased with himself.

"Well?" she asked, shutting the book in one swift movement. The rush of air rustled the ends of her hair, filling her nose with the scent of old paper. "Was he there? Did you see him?"

"I didn't, no."

Lía stood, a thick brow arched almost into her hairline. When she spoke, her words left her lips slowly, each filled with caution. "So why do you look so smug?"

Anders all but grinned as he moved into the room, somehow managing to shut the door without taking his hands from behind his back. Beyond all of her hesitancy, she found herself smiling as she watched him, the curl of his own lips contagious as always. "I didn't have much coin with me, but I saw one of the vendors selling them and I couldn't pass it up."

Moving over to her, he set himself down on the stool in front of her chair and motioned with a nod for her to return to her seat. She did so, brow still raised in curiosity. People didn't often buy her gifts. True, any silver she accumulated either went to buying poultices or gifts for her party, but no one ever thought to give her anything back.

Of course he'd be the first.

With a flourish, he produced a small figure and placed it on her knee, his index and thumb curled around its waist. Taking a moment to look down at it, the truth slowly began to dawn on her. Black hair, armor, the Cousland family crest… "It's me."

"Sure is," he laughed, clearly both impressed with himself for finding such a jewel and amused that someone would make a doll of his fearless leader. The fact that she looked so _shocked _was just an added bonus. Biting down on his lip, he moved the doll from side to side in an exaggerated walk down her thigh. "Personally, I don't think there is a more accurate representation in all of Thedas. It's impressive."

"It doesn't have hands."

Anders' chin quivered as he bit back another laugh. Maker, she was either stunned into silence or she was going to strangle him. He was quick to hope for the former, though the possibility of it being the latter kept him from making any farther moves with the doll. "It does have hands!" Reaching forward, he lifted up the doll's arm, pointing towards the rounded end. "She doesn't have fingers, true, but those are just details."

Lía glanced up from the doll, and he was relieved to note that there was no animosity in her gray eyes. Instead, they were filled with mirth. Finally. "You've made note of her breasts, I'm sure." The doll was arguably "blessed" in comparison to the Warden-Commander, who'd often been mistook for a boy as a child. Thankfully those days were in the past, but this doll appeared as though she would tip over under a stiff wind.

"It's what initially got my attention," he smirked, glancing down at the doll and adding in a disappointed tone, "The single design flaw."

Reaching out, she knocked him playfully in the shoulder. "I've never heard you complain before."

"I never imagined I'd see such a pair on you, though. I feel enlightened. And saddened." He sighed, a mournful look befalling his otherwise bright expression. "Oh, to see how things could have been."

"Anders," she murmured, trying in vain to hold back a laugh as she watched his index absently roll over the doll's ample bosom. "You should probably ask her before you touch. She's a Grey Warden, after all. We wouldn't want you getting hurt."

The mage's eyes fell to the doll in his hand, and he let out a peal of laughter, sliding his index the necessary distance away from any of her more private areas. "Ah, yes, we all know this isn't truly you, then," he chuckled, having the doll jump from Lía's thigh to her forearm. "If I'd have tried such a thing when we first met, I'd have gotten a gauntlet in the teeth."

"Truer words have never been spoken. Especially not from you."

"Hey, that's not nice."

Lía grinned, patting the top of the doll's head. It wasn't necessarily a _bad _representation of her. The overcompensation of her breasts aside, she seemed to mirror the real thing rather well. Her pin straight posture, the hips she'd gained when she became a woman, black hair pulled away from her face. They even got the prideful expression down in surprisingly few details.

For hours, Anders and Lía gushed over his find. He spoke in a much higher register, while she deepened her voice to match his. He squealed on about nobility and making the right decisions; she boomed about freedom and pretty girls. Their impressions of each other rang with a truth born of spending so much time in each other's company.

Much of their time spent together was replayed that night. From their first meeting to the dramatically retold version of their first kiss, no story was left untold, no scene not replicated. The hour quickly grew late, and the sun was replaced by flickering candlelight and a crackling fire. That day's warmth was exchanged with hefty amounts of wine and laughter.

And when they finally fell asleep, they did so with the doll nestled between them.


	2. Naked

**Prompt : Naked**

Anders _loved_ having good dreams. They often came out of nowhere, flanking nightmares and warding them off as if they'd never existed, more like dream guardians than actual dreams themselves. For a man who so enjoyed his sleep, the sudden influx of nightmares only made him more thankful for the rare delightful fantasy. They were soft-focused things filled with sunshine and food and, quite often, women.

Beautiful, buxom women crowded around him to tend to his "wounds," laving him with their tongues, pressing butterfly kisses along his throat and face, murmuring sweet nothings into his ears. He smiled in his sleep, turning over on his bedroll; _this_ was a dream. A good one.

For countless hours, the women continued their delicious assault upon him, and he merely relaxed, allowing himself to be overcome.

However, despite the fire building in his loins, he felt himself slowly growing colder and colder. There was a chill spreading through his limbs, down to his fingers and toes, which were now half-frozen. A wordless grumble left his lips as he shifted onto his back, groggily lifting himself out of the dream with reluctance. For a long moment, he did not move. His eyes blinked into focus. His fingers contracted, as did his toes, in an attempt to warm themselves.

A few moments passed before he glanced down to find his chest. "Now that's odd," he rumbled, voice thick from sleep. It wasn't the fact that he had a chest that was odd; he woke every morning with such a chest. But he was looking upon his _skin_, which only ever happened when he was having a bath or with a woman. He cast a sideways glance around his tent to find it empty save for his pack. No women. Right.

Hands grasping at his blanket, he pulled it back for further inspection. More skin. "Ah." His head fell back against his pillow, his eyes staring at the ceiling of his tent. "Why am I naked?"

In truth, it wasn't a question he often asked himself - usually any nudity was by his own volition, but it had happened once or twice before. At least, it happened often enough for him to realize whenever he woke in such a state, it usually entailed something very, very horrible had happened… or something very, very good. This morning, though, he couldn't remember either.

It didn't matter how long he tried to remember how or where he'd lost his robes. He wouldn't find them lying on his back. The next few minutes were spent rummaging around his tent. His robes weren't beneath his bedroll. They weren't in his pack. They just _weren't there_.

Wrapping his blanket around his waist with care, he emerged from the tent to be met with the usual sights. Sigrun was sitting near the fire, speaking to Justice in hushed tones about only Maker knew what. Everyone else was sitting apart from each other, and Oghren was nowhere to be found. He was probably still sleeping. _Like I would be if not for my missing robes_.

Sigrun looked away from her conversation when she heard the mage's strides rustling the leaves underfoot. She wasn't used to seeing him anything but perfectly coiffed. The fact that he was half-naked, stalking through the camp, his blonde hair tangled around his face, was a spectacle in itself. "Well, good morning to you, too, Anders," she greeted him without the slightest intent towards hiding the amused undertone in her voice.

He grumbled something about morning and sleep and… women with large breasts? Quirking a brow, the dwarf turned back to continue her conversation with Justice instead of trying to figure out what was going on.

Before he moved on, however, he called out for her attention once more. "Have you seen my robes?"

"Lía passed through with them not an hour ago."

Anders' heart nearly fell to his bare feet.

"And where was she heading?" he asked, surprised at how small his own voice sounded.

"The creek," Justice interrupted, "She mentioned cleaning them."

Nodding mutely, he grabbed at where the blanket wrapped around his waist and set off in the direction of the creek. So not only was he stalking through the woods with nothing but his blanket to separate him from the wilds, but he'd been assaulted by the Warden-Commander in his sleep. While the logical part of his mind balked at the idea of her slipping into his tent and removing every scrap of clothing he had, the more sinister bits wanted to congratulate her for a job well done.

Removing someone's entire wardrobe without waking them was a feat he couldn't dream of accomplishing. For all his skill and prowess, he still got a bit clumsy whenever stealth played a part in removing clothing. Slipping a hand up a skirt was nigh impossible for him without alerting the woman. He was much better at the more straight forward approach.

Líadan Cousland, however, was clearly some kind of prodigy.

In spite of all his wonder, he still felt the tiniest bit violated. Sure, it was nothing she hadn't seen before, but she could have _asked_, or at least waited until he woke up.

When he finally reached the creek, he was awarded with a sight that proved both Sigrun and Justice correct. There she was, bent over the bubbling water as she idly scrubbed at the skirt of his robes. Straying near the line of trees at her back, he watched her for a moment, taking in the sight as it was.

Her hair was hanging halfway own her back in a messy braid, and she was out of her armor, clothed instead in a plain shirt and leggings. For such a woman, it was amazing how easily she transformed from stately to almost humble. He'd come into contact with a scant few noblewomen, and they never ceased to render him stunned. But they could hardly compare to her, no matter how beautiful and grand they were. She was just… _more_. And she was - was she humming? He recognized the song's tune, but couldn't place it exactly.

"You could've left me with my smallclothes, you know."

Lía's song stopped immediately as her entire body tensed. The endless scrubbing stopped, and she twisted her head slowly to look at him over her shoulder.

"I assumed the morning I woke up naked from your doing, you'd stick around. Maybe make me breakfast."

_Oh_. She let go of the breath she hadn't realized she was holding before turning back to the task at hand. _He's teasing. Good._ "Between Oghren, Justice, and you, camp was starting to feel more like a farm. You men don't take much care in smelling nice, do you?"

"Huh?" Anders moved over towards the creek, "What are you talking about? I smell _fine_. I wash every time we make camp." She didn't seem to believe him, as she just kept scrubbing and scrubbing. "You've been spending too much time with Justice. I think he's messed with your senses." Again, she didn't believe him.

Heaving a sigh, he grabbed at his robes, nearly prying them out of her hands before letting them fall to the ground. "Here, look," he murmured, his palms cupping the undersides of her arms as he goaded her into a standing position. She tilted her chin up to look at him, and he managed a warm smile before his hand slipped over her shoulder and around to the back of her neck, pulling her close.

Her face instinctively came to rest in the slope of his neck, her nose half-buried in his hair, and she breathed in. Deeply. "Oh," she whispered, her eyes falling shut. As if pulled by invisible strings, Lía slipped her arms around his waist, her fingers splaying between his shoulder blades. His skin smelled of the woods, dark and fresh and clean, and it was followed by the faint, almost bitingly sweet aroma of lyrium. "Mmm, you _do_ smell nice."

"See? I told you."

She chuckled, her hands roving absently over the span of his shoulders. "I still don't regret sneaking into your tent. Even if I did hear a few things I could've lived without knowing."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Mmm, ladies, there's enough of Magical Anders to go around," she cooed, nipping at the lobe of his ear.

His heart stuttered in his chest. "Uh… yeah, about that." He couldn't help but laugh at himself. Figures she would walk in on something like that. It was just like his luck, or decided lack thereof. "I hope you didn't find me in any… compromising positions."

She laughed throatily, and he pulled her into an even tighter embrace. "When are you _not_ in a compromising position?"

"You know, that's a good point."


	3. Nightmare

**Prompt: Nightmare**

She always had nightmares of darkspawn before she met him, even when her body came to rest and the Archdemon was slain. She'd see them massing, a stream of writhing, powerful figures on the side of a mountain or within one. She could hear their guttural cries, violent and wordless. The scent of them filled her nostrils; their combined heat burned at her skin.

Even now, she steill dreamt of them. They filled every thought once she shut her eyes. But now he was there; he was always there. No matter how fiercely she tried to force him out, he remained, and it never ended well.

What felt like forever ago, Alistair comforted her with the thought that, eventually, she would learn how to guard herself against the dreams. But without the necessary guidance, she floundered, grasping for the relief that no more nightmares would bring only to watch it slip through her fingers.

And here she was, her sword drawn and her eyes focused on the pack of Blight wolves that encircled her and the mage. She didn't recognize their location; to her, it was merely a forest. Flames licked the treetops. Bundles of blazing undergrowth blocked their path. They had no way to escape. They were gravely outnumbered. As most nightmares usually ended, they would die.

There are few feelings quite like the terror that grips the heart when you realize you're in a nightmare, yet you can't climb out of it.

Lía tore at her bottom lip as she gripped the hilt of her sword and hefted her shield higher onto her arm. "This is a dream. This is a dream," she repeated to herself, her voice low, but easily overheard by Anders, who shifted in unease.

"It doesn't feel like a dream to me," he retorted. "Can we kill these things and find a way out of here?"

The tears that welled in her eyes refracted the sparks in ways that almost blinded her. She hated how she prepared herself, for she never did it gracefully. No matter how many times she repeated herself, swearing this was only a dream, she could not make the sensation of all that was happening go away. It felt too real, and she'd experienced it too many times before to even begin to believe that they had a chance.

Wolves. It was rarely ever wolves.

Genlocks were common. Hurlocks even more so. But wolves only appeared in her dreams when something terrible was on the horizon.

In her previous undertaking, her party was attacked by a pack of Blight wolves while on their way to the Dalish camp. She'd been bitten. The wound pained her like nothing she'd ever felt before, but it was naught compared to the feeling of being tossed to the ground by the beast as its teeth tore into the flesh of her shield arm. No matter what skills in healing Wynne possessed, she could not take that memory away.

"Lía," Anders murmured, glancing over at her for scarcely a moment before jerking his eyes back towards the wolves. "We are being circled like we're dinner. A command would not go amiss."

"There's no use."

Her words were a whisper, but it caught his attention all the same. "No use!?" he screeched, "Of course there's a use! I'm not about to be eaten by a few feral _dogs_." His gaze settled upon her then - brown eyes sharp with desperation. "I won't let _you_ give up, either. Not after all you've hauled my arse through."

Her brows dipped as she gripped her sword tighter. No matter how many nights this repeated itself, how many times she swore there was no use, she always picked up her sword, and she always fought. It was because of him.

But it always ended the same. No matter how much blood they shed together, they always lost. And each time she was forced to say goodbye to him, a small piece of her broke.

His blood was everywhere. His robes, her armor; among the teeth and claws of the slain wolves. The other Blight-ridden beasts were long gone, satisfied with the damage wrought. None of them strayed to see her fall to her knees by his side. Her shield and sword were cast off and thrown carelessly aside. She knew she had little time left.

The moan that parted his lips when she lifted him up from the dead leaves shot her straight through, but she did not have time to be gentle. Her movements were jerky - desperate - as she pulled him into her arms, as close to her body as possible. She couldn't let go. Not again. Not after being forced to watch him die not three days prior.

"Lía," he grunted, lips smearing spattered blood where they met cool silverite. "They-they're gone." A violent cough sent his arm curling around his waist, his features twisting beneath the pain. "Argh, it hurts. Hurts to talk."

The Warden whimpered into his scalp, her lips pressed onto his soft, golden hair. "Then shut up," she choked out, "S-shut up, and it won't hurt so much."

Her cheeks burned from heat of the tears that coursed down them.

"It'll be only a moment." In her arms, she could feel the rigidity in his muscles slowly fade away. His hand rose to rest upon her arm as his breathing slowed. "It'll only be a - ah." Her shoulders heaved forward as a sob wracked her body. Why was she being put through these trials? She'd seen so much death; she'd brought most of it forth by her own hand. Why were these demons assaulting her even in her sleep? "Only a moment until we're - until we're together again," she coughed through her sobs, clamping her eyes shut when she saw his chest slow to a stop.

Lía woke with a strangled gasp to find her nails tearing into her already patched pillow. Her heart hammered in her chest, but its speed was no match for how quickly her mind raced. Wiping at her eyes with the butt of her palm, she took a slow, shuddering breath in an attempt to calm her shaking limbs. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But something within her drove her to stand. It drove her to leave her tent and find his in the bright moonlight. When she opened the flap, she peered in with some remnants of fear still clenched around her chest.

These fears faded away the moment she heard his quiet snoring.

Her eyes shot upwards to the sky in a silent prayer to the Maker. Ducking to enter the tent, she dropped soundlessly onto her knees and crawled the rest of the distance until she was mere feet away from him. "Anders?" she whispered.

He murmured something, dusting a limp hand in her direction.

"_Anders_." A hiss, slightly louder.

His lips parted, tongue darting out between them as he smacked awake. "Mmmmyeah?"

"Can I…?"

She couldn't see his eyes open in the darkness of the tent, but she could sense his sudden awareness, as the snoring had stopped. Without a word, he lifted an arm and offered her a spot on his bedroll. Either he was still thoroughly enveloped in a dreamlike state or he understood the broken sound in her voice. While she was quick to assume it was the former, the past few weeks taught him the opposite.

Her chin quivered as she slid in next to him, an arm instinctively falling over his waist as she had for so many nights recently, and tears threatened to spill themselves again when he shifted closer to her and placed a clumsy kiss upon her forehead. Again he murmured something she couldn't quite catch.

And this time, when she slept she dreamt of nothing.


	4. Jealousy

**A/N**: Alrighty, so, things are going to start treading into spoiler-y territory soon. Most of the drabbles will take place outside of the main plot, but there will be some that don't. So watch out! Also, as always, feedback is very much appreciated. Appreciated, loved, awarded with gross, slimy mabari kisses, etc. :) So remember to leave some! 

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**Prompt : Jealousy**

She knew Amaranthine like the back of her hand. After visiting the city many, _many_ times in her life, she grew to think of the place more as a second or third home than just another name on the map.

This didn't stop her party from murmuring about how they suspected she was lost when she didn't lead them directly to the Crown and Lion Inn. Most of them didn't have the foggiest idea of how often she'd spent time here as a child, so she was quick to forgive them their doubts. Only Nathaniel protected her pride, claiming that neither of them would make a better guide.

Turning down a side road, Lía paused for a moment to take a look around. Things were different now. They didn't appear much different, but the entire atmosphere _felt_ different. Forced. Unwelcoming. None of this took away from how nice it felt to be back.

Behind her, she could hear Anders talking to Velanna.

"Have I ever told you that I find tattoos on women _incredibly_ attractive?"

Lía tensed. It took every scrap of will not to lift her hand to the dark tattoo that ran over her right eye. But he was talking to Velanna, not her. Velanna's tattoos seemed more natural, like they belonged on her sun-kissed skin, a complete contrast when compared to her own near-black markings. She was also Dalish. Her tattoos were the symbols of the gods, not some attempt from a stupid noble to seem more imposing.

Velanna, however, did not seem impressed. "Have I ever told you that I find most humans physically and morally repulsive?"

"Good to know!" Anders laughed. A few moments passed in silence. Lía continued their trek up towards the inn, her back turned towards her party. "Hold on," he continued after a while, "You said _most_ humans. Does that mean I've got a shot?"

The elf gave an annoyed huff before lengthening her strides to catch up with the Commander.

Some small part of her rejoiced at Velanna's reaction to Anders' advances. Her relief didn't even hit home until the female mage fell into stride with her. She was actually _jealous_? Of Velanna and the attention he felt it was appropriate to shower her with?

She was the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. She'd saved them from the Blight. Or, rather, the Archdemon. Her renown cast a hefty shadow upon whoever tried to stand in her way.

And yet she felt anxiety bubbling in her stomach.

_This is ridiculous_, she told herself as she took the first step of many towards the inn.

--

_This is absurd_, Anders found himself thinking as he watched Lía engage in what looked like an intense discussion with Nathaniel beside the large fire in the center of the Throne Room.

After she'd finished discussing business with Seneschal Varel, he'd seen her approaching him and felt a rising in the center of his chest. There was no greater sight than seeing the famed Warden moving towards him with that extra added pep in her step as she so often did. Not only did the extra attention make him feel welcome, but it also made him feel quite special. It was nice.

Tonight, however, she gave him no more than a smile and a nod as she passed right by him, her feet leading her directly towards Howe.

Ah. Of course she'd want to talk to him. After their recent visit to Amaranthine, he would no doubt have some concerns, something weary or biting to say about the city's treatment of his familial history. He faintly recalled him saying something about a statue and her saying something about finding it for him. At the time, he hadn't thought much of it. But now, the fact was oddly unsettling.

So now they were sitting beside the fire, speaking in hushed tones. He leaned into her, his chin dipped down so he could hear her better next to the crackling flames, and as she spoke, she used her hands, fingers caressing each word that left her mouth.

"There is no reason you should be jealous," he heard from beside him.

His eyes flashed to Ambassador Cera. The elf was staring up at him, hands laced before her. "I'm not _jealous_."

"And I've been standing here for the past two weeks of my own volition," she retorted, her tone surprisingly sarcastic. He hadn't garnered such a response from her before. He was impressed with himself. "She and Nathaniel were close. At least, that's what he told me."

Anders didn't say a word; he merely shot another look towards the two of them, still sitting by the fire, still talking. Oh, and now they were smiling. And laughing! Oh, Maker's blessings, how adorable!

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"She's trying to help him, just like she's trying to help you. And everyone else here."

"Alright. I get it. She's some kind of angel." He crossed his arms over his chest, turning away from the two to look towards Cera instead. "But why does she have to sit so close?"


	5. One Last Kiss

**Prompt : One Last Kiss**

Líadan was still not used to waking in his tent.

Regardless, when she shifted awake, blinking into the light that filtered in through the tan fabric, she moved instinctively towards the man she knew was lying beside her. The only thought that passed through her still waking mind was how nice this was in comparison to waking alone in her own tent. He was spectacularly warm, and he chuckled as she mewled into his throat, her head tucked below his chin.

How a woman like her could actually make such a noise in _his_ arms was beyond his comprehension, but he didn't question it.

His fingers sought out her hair, twisting and twining around the black locks as he cradled the back of her head. No matter how warm his own limbs were, hers were even warmer; it was like sleeping next to a crackling fire, which he was thankful for when the nights grew cold.

"You're already dressed."

Her tone was something between confusion and protest, and Anders grinned at the prospect.

"My, you_ are_ perceptive this morning."

When she grumbled something in response, he laughed again, pulling her even closer. After a small squeeze, he realized an explanation would be best, and he pulled back just far enough for her to see his face. "Oghren has insisted I go out and… chop wood with him. For the fire."

Her imagination was overcome with the image of him stripped to the waist. He stood amongst fallen trees more than four or five times his size, strands of gold tousled around his face. His surprisingly muscled torso gleamed with sweat as he raised an axe high into the air only to have it come crashing down onto a stump, splitting it in two.

"Mmm," was her only reply, before shifting on the bedroll in an attempt to get closer.

"Oh, you like that, do you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Neither of you realize I've never actually chopped down a tree," he chuckled, tilting his chin upwards so she could continue her tiny barrage of clumsy kisses along his throat. "When I was on the run from the Circle, I used twigs for my fires... Er. Branches, I mean. Big, manly branches."

He could feel her lips quiver against his neck as she gave a silent laugh. "Is this some sort of initiation? Am I to be inducted into Oghren's House? … Does Oghren even _have_ a House?"

Lía pulled away from him, earning a little grunt of displeasure from the mage. "You're _nervous_."

"I am _not_ nervous," he was quick to reply, hoisting himself up on his elbows. "It's not like we're heading into the forest in the middle of the night unarmed or anything."

"Exactly, so there's no need to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous. I just told you that."

"Mm-hmm," Lía murmured, clearly not believing a word of it, "And no, Oghren doesn't have a House. And you'd do good not to ask him about it."

With that, she nudged him over onto his back and silenced any looming comments with a kiss. It never ceased to surprise him how tender she actually was once she cast off her armor and weapons. After a solid year and a half of almost constant battles, she'd lost most of the softness she'd settled into as a young woman, but she still somehow melted into him, as if she wasn't made of sinewy muscle and bone.

Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric at his throat in a teasing caress that had him wondering if Oghren _really_ needed his help, but before the mage could get any solid ideas of how to avoid his obligations, there was a stirring outside of his tent.

"Ho! Mage!"

Anders groaned, and Lía stifled a laugh by pressing her mouth against his cheek. "Yes, my friend?" he called out, voice so full of false courtesy that the Warden-Commander nearly laughed again.

"If you're finished with the Commander, we should get a move on."

"I'll have you know," Lía called out, "I could send you off with Velanna instead. Give him a moment; that's all I ask."

He must have conceded, as she heard his boots rustling the leaves on the ground as he walked away, trailed by some comments about _ruddy elves and their ruddy trees_. The smirk on Lía's mouth was undeniably triumphant as she turned back to Anders.

"Oh, you're good at that."

"Yes. I am," she laughed, cupping a palm against his jaw, "But you should go. Oghren doesn't like being kept from swinging his axe at things."

Anders released a low whine of disapproval, only to be cut off again by her lips pressed firmly against his. "If you hurry, I'll let you use that strawberry soap you love so much." His brow shot up as if to ask her, 'Why would I want to smell like strawberries? Plus, I have my own soap.' She paused. "On me."

She'd never seen him scramble up off of the bedroll so fast.

"Ah, very well then, I must be off!"

But before he was able to exit the tent, she called out to him. He stopped cold in his tracks, turning around only to see her staring at him with a vaguely offended expression. "Don't I get a goodbye kiss?"

Anders grinned, "Of course you do." Moving over, he bent at the waist and snatched her mouth up with his, fingers smoothing over the skin of her cheek. He didn't understand how he could so willingly allow himself to be controlled by such a woman. Perhaps being a Warden changed him, or perhaps it was the realization that she had no idea how much power she held over him.

After a lingering kiss, he was nearly at the exit of the tent before he turned around and headed back towards her.

"You shouldn't keep him waiting," she laughed.

"One last kiss before I go."

She allowed it. What sort of woman would deny a man such a thing? Instead of reminding him of his duties to the party, she smiled against his lips before tugging him forward by his shoulders. The kiss was chaste, but strong. No tongue, no teeth, just lips and smiles - and that was enough to satisfy him until he was able to return to camp.


	6. Easily Influenced

**Prompt : Easily Influenced**

"I'll not have the likes of you pushing me around!"

Líadan tried her hardest not to gape at the innkeep. The dwarf stared up at her, his bushy red brows arched in what appeared to be an attempt at intimidation and his hands on his hips. She hadn't the slightest idea how she got into these situations, but they always seemed to smack her in the forehead when she least expected it. "I am _not_ pushing you around," she replied, her tone terse despite this being her vying for a diplomatic solution. "I have the coin. Look!"

After digging into her pack, she held out an open palm to him. Forty silvers shined back at him from her hand. He went to grab them, but she jerked her hand back, fingers closing over the money. "There is a man on the road who needs shelter. He was attacked by _darkspawn_ while on the way to visit his _sickly mother_. I am here to pay for his room."

"This is a busy inn, lady," the dwarf grunted, clearly displeased by having to turn down those silvers. "I can't hold a room for someone who isn't here."

She really wished these things didn't happen. While she was no philistine, she wasn't exactly the most charismatic person, either. It'd caused her mother much grief as a child, and it'd gotten her into more trouble than she cared to admit while she traveled against the Blight. However, what she lacked in charm, she more than made up for in sheer height and will. While she hadn't been pushing him around before, niceties didn't always work. He'd forced her hand into trying a different method entirely - one she saved for the rare occasion.

Stepping forward, Lía rested her heavily gauntleted hands on the counter and leaned closer to the dwarf. Some small part of her was amused at how he took an unconscious step back. "I am the Warden-Commander of Ferelden," she said, careful to keep her voice lowered in the crowded common room. "I have cleared the roads to Amaranthine of darkspawn. That shipment of ale that just came in? It wouldn't have arrived if not for my _diligent_ efforts to keep my people safe."

"There is a man who will arrive in just under two days. You _will_ give him haven." At that, she dropped the silvers onto the counter with a twitch of her upper lip. "If I so much as hear you did not treat him to his room, I will be back."

The dwarf scrambled to grab the silvers from the bar, stammering out a, "Y-yes, Warden-Commander, ser."

Behind her, Sigrun bit down on her bottom lip to keep from chuckling.

When the party stepped out of the inn, Lía relaxed again, her shoulders nearly slouching beneath her armor. She hated doing that. She always felt like such a bully afterwards. But she needed to know that the poor man she'd encountered on the road would be alright. She was often effected by tales like his, no doubt due to running across so many broken caravans. It wasn't often she found a survivor; she wasn't about to let him get away without help. Still, her intimidation efforts earned a grin from Sigrun and a hint of a smile from Nathaniel. And Anders, well.

The mage fell into stride with her, his laughter heard even above the wind. "Are you sure you're not a mage?"

"What?" Lía asked, shooting him a questioning look.

"I'm just curious. Because that - that was _magical_."


	7. Chance

**Prompt : Chance**

He was used to getting second chances. He was used to getting thirds and fourths and fifths. All of his life was spent living upon those opportunities to make up for previous misdeeds, which he never used to his advantage. Why should he? He had charm enough to get another chance out of whoever he faced. Why should he worry about cleaning up his own messes when someone was always willing to do so for him?

But as Ser Rylock hefted her shoulders and gave the Warden-Commander her offer, something within him stirred. It was a question, a worry. For the first time since he was a teenager, he wasn't tied to the Circle. Being so, Líadan could have easily decided he wasn't worth the trouble and handed him over to the templar.

So when the Commander took a step forward, only mere inches taller than Rylock, but with a resolve that loomed over her, he felt his breath catch in his throat.

"I," she began, her hands falling to her hips, "unlike _some_, do not ask that he submit."

Rylock's dark eyes narrowed, but Lía didn't waver an inch. "You'll regret that decision, Commander. Mages such as this one should be kept on a short leash." Even from a few feet away, Anders could see her upper lip twitch in a sneer. "Hand him over to me, and I'll make sure this murderer is never a bother to anyone again."

"What?" he heard himself interrupt, his voice rising as he stepped forward, closer to the back of the Warden. "No, you can't arrest me!" She couldn't, could she? No. No, she couldn't. "King Alistair allowed my conscription!"

Lía's eyes flashed to his face when she heard the note of worry in his words. He actually believed she might let the templar take him. How little they knew of each other. "No," she said with leaden finality, steeling her expression as she turned back to Rylock. "He stays with us."

"Hardly surprising," the templar replied, "The Grey Wardens have ever been a haven for criminals and maleficar." Before she was able to respond, Rylock continued, "I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you naught. Now you come with us."

No sooner had the templar finished speaking did her hand go to her back, the shrill whine of metal on metal filling the room as she drew her sword. For a moment, Anders did not think to reach for his staff. Instead, he stood frozen, rooted to the floor, as he watched Lía go for her own sword and shield, knees bent as she parried the first blow.

Rylock had not expected the fight she found. In a scant few moments, the scuffle was over, and Anders stood above the templar's body, watching as her wounds wept red into the wooden planks beneath her.

He turned to see Lía kneeling before Nathaniel, smoothing the remaining contents of a jar of poultice over a cut on his leg. His features remained calm, his arched brows the only hint towards the pain that rested just beneath. She offered him a small smile before standing and replacing the small jar to her pack.

"Thank you." Anders cringed inwardly at how ridiculously _earnest_ he knew he sounded. Clearing his throat, he tilted his head forward, his eyes still on hers. "You stood by me, and I appreciate that."

While she gave away her smiles without much thought, they were small things, a twist in the corner of her mouth. Genuine, but not cheerful; nothing compared to the one that pulled at her lips now. Even the corners of her eyes wrinkled from it. He looked towards the hand she rested on his shoulder, watching as her thumb smoothed along the dark feathers that decorated his robe. "You're a friend," she said. Had her voice been a color, it would have been golden in its warmth. "Friends stick up for each other."

"I…" Lía looked up at him expectantly. "I guess they do."

His chuckle was tremulous as he reached a hand up to cradle the back of his neck, "Anyhow, let's go before someone else rushes in to waggle a finger at us."

Nodding, the Commander turned and gave them the order to move out.

Anders hung back a few paces behind the rest of the party. He couldn't believe his luck. Not only was he out of the Circle's grasp, but Ser Rylock was dead. The woman so intent on hunting him down and bringing him back was no more. And it was all because of her. What had he done to deserve such trust from a person? Such loyalty?

Truth be told, he didn't believe he deserved it in the slightest.

But he wasn't going to question her.


	8. Drunk

**Prompt : Drunk**

This was a bad idea.

A very, very, _very_ bad idea.

In fact, in all her years, she didn't believe she'd thought up a single worse idea than this one.

"Ssh," she heard in front of her, and Lía jerked to attention, her hand flying to cover her mouth. While her apology was muffled by her palm, it earned her a rumbling chuckle in response. She hadn't realized she'd been speaking, much less repeating over and over – _this is a bad idea; a baaaad, bad idea_. If someone had told her before taking that first sip of ale that she'd be stumbling down to one of the ponds surrounding Vigil's Keep with Anders in under two hours, she'd have laughed in their face.

Well, it seemed that person would've been right. Her hands were fumbling at her splintmail as she struggled to catch up, her eyes flashing from her gauntlets to Anders' back as he moved out in front of her with a purpose. Either he wasn't anywhere near as drunk as she was or he was concentrating very, very hard.

By the time they reached the pond, she was halfway down to her small clothes, struggling to cradle her armor like a small child as she hopped on one foot in an attempt to remove her greaves without falling over. She could _hear_ him laughing at her, and she aimed a pointed look in his direction as she came to a stop and let her armor fall to the ground. "You gonna look, or are ya gonna help?"

Anders snickered. "You seem to be handling yourself just fine."

"Stop laughin' at me!"

He didn't, of course.

Tossing the final greave to the side, she pointed an index at him. Her cheeks were flushed in ways she never thought possible, and her hair was putting up a decent fight against the braided buns she usually wore it in. One of them had come unpinned and hung down over her shoulder while the other sat crookedly against the back of her neck. "Stop. Laughing. At me."

"Yes, _my lady_," Anders snorted before biting down on his bottom lip, stifling another laugh. For such a hearty specimen, she sure couldn't hold her alcohol. His limbs were all warm and lovely-feeling, but he wasn't drunk. He certainly wasn't drunk like _her_. Of course, if she'd been sober, this idea would've never come about. Who would've thought the youngest Cousland would have such a penchant for sneaking around in her smallclothes?

Lía glared openly at him, and he utterly _lost_ it. All the composure he'd forced upon himself shattered, leaving him a quivering mess beneath his own laughter. _She's going to kill me_, he mused, not taking his eyes off her despite the urge to grasp his stomach.

Those were her intentions, but intoxicated as she was, actual murder was far beyond her reach. Instead, she lunged at him, her weight knocking them both into the pond with a huge splash. If they were trying to be quiet, that was all but futile now after the huge rush of water and the high-pitched screech that came from the mage.

By the time he was able to get his footing, she was already up on her feet, toes digging into the cool, if a bit slimy, bottom of the pond. His hands grasped at his hair, desperately trying to get it out of his eyes as he coughed and hacked and swore. "I wasn't ready!" he shouted, still pawing at his eyes. When he was finally able to smooth the wet hair away from his face, his brows knitted above his nose. "You should've war –"

Before he was able to finish, Lía jumped on him again, though this time without the intent of drowning. Grace wasn't exactly her strong point after a few pints, but he wasn't in the position to complain. Instead, he settled his hands on the small of her back and submitted himself to her ministrations.

He'd never actually been licked by a mabari, but he imagined the comparison would be fairly close.

But the sounds she was making were _kind of_ enticing. Most of the time she was fairly quiet, more of a groaner than a screamer. However, at the moment she was making quiet mewling sounds very near to his ear as her tongue teased the skin beneath the lobe of his ear.

So the woman was just about the most unstable person in the entire world when she was drunk. Not moments before, she'd no doubt tried to drown him, and now she had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her mouth all but buried into his ear. He didn't mind the quick changes, especially considering how thoroughly uninhibited she became.

All this internal musing came to a complete and utter halt when he felt her hand slip down to cup him between the legs.

"Let's get you out of those soaked robes, hmmnnr?" she purred. Or, rather, she tried to. It came out as more of a slurred rumble, and she just _had_ to punctuate it with another graceless nibble on his earlobe. He was close to asking her if she was trying to devour his face when she rolled her palm against him, setting fire to the pit of his stomach.

Anders was torn between laughter, confusion, and sudden, almost painful arousal.

It took him a moment to push through his clouded thoughts, and she shifted against him with noted impatience. "Good," he muttered, pulling out of her arms to struggle with his heavy robes. "Good idea." It took them even longer than it should have, considering Lía's sudden desire to drag her tongue along whatever skin she could. _Maker, she's like a cat. _

Despite the odd feeling of being licked all over, the only thought he could focus on was one that repeated itself like a prayer in the back of his head – that'd feel nice quite a bit South.

By the time his robes were flung onto the bank of the pond, Lía had all but climbed onto him again, her strong legs wrapped around his waist as her fingers wove themselves deep into his hair. Their lips met. Finally her tongue was pulled away from his arms or chest or stomach or throat for long enough to twine itself around his own, prodding and curling its way into the confines of his mouth.

Before he was able to assert the smallest amount of dominance, something he did regularly to save himself the personal shame of being the Warden-Commander's lap cat, she pulled away and let herself slide down onto her own feet.

But she didn't stop. She kept drifting downwards. And down, and down, and -

"_Andraste's frilly smallclothes._"

He truly was the luckiest man in all of Thedas.


	9. Retaliation

**Prompt : Retaliation**

It all began with Anders making a comment on his "crippling boredom" while standing around in the throne room.

Vigil's Keep wasn't much fun. Even on the good days, when it wasn't raining or being attacked by hordes of darkspawn, the atmosphere left something to be desired. Still, Lía made a point to be openly apologetic with the rest of her party when they had to stick around the Keep longer than expected. The fact that Anders still found it within himself to complain was enough a reason to put him in his place.

That night, cloaked in darkness and a shroud of quiet, muffled laughter, she sought out the foul-smelling vials that Velanna kept with her things and made her way down the halls of the Keep on bare feet, thankfully quiet enough not to wake Anders. _Heavy sleeper_, she reminded herself as she opened the chest on the end of his bed and snatched up a small bottle, settling the mostly harmless liquid in the same exact spot.

The next morning, Varel's mabari nearly had a fit when Anders made his way, brows cinched and grumbling, to the breakfast table.

"What's got you in a mood, mage?" Oghren asked when he saw the face the man wore. By the time he settled down next to him, however, even the dwarf was turning up his nose. Meanwhile, Lía hid her face behind the map in her hands, biting down so hard on her lip to keep from laughing it almost bled.

It wasn't until Velanna stormed into the dining room, his vial of cologne in her hand, cheeks aflame, that Líadan folded the map downwards. The elf somehow knew _exactly_ who was responsible, and Anders watched her as she stalked across the room to the Warden-Commander, slamming the thing down on the table. "_What_ is _this_?" she asked, her voice nearly acidic enough to burn holes through someone less learned in dealing with pissy mages.

"Let me see it," Lía murmured, snatching the vial away from her and pulling out the stopper. Her nostrils flared as she took a quick sniff. "As I expected. Obnoxious and flowery. It has to be for Anders."

Anders' eyes narrowed at her, and she bit back a grin as he mouthed, '_It was you._'

Not intent on affirming his beliefs, Lía gave a shrug and plugged the vial, sliding it across the table towards Velanna. She then turned back to her map, frustratingly enough, leaving him without a solid answer. And fuming. Maker, was he fuming.

But of course, Oghren wasn't done. The dwarf pushed away his plate and turned to the mage, lips curled downward in a pained grimace. "By the stone, what crawled up your skirt and died?"

"Shut up."

Later that day, Lía was taking a walk around Vigil with the Seneschal's mabari, Oak. For once it wasn't raining. The sun was actually peeking out of the clouds, and she was still outrageously pleased with herself for the previous night's prank, the sentiment mirrored in the way her chin was tilted upward in pride.

Oak stalked at her side, his short, thick limbs keeping up with her in stride. He was all muscle and arrogance, a clear trophy fighter, the perfect match for the man who almost single-handedly kept the Keep up and running. "It's nice out today, isn't it, boy?" she asked, ruffling a hand between his ears. The mabari gave a bellow of a bark as he picked up his pace, gaining a pleased laugh from the Warden.

_Meow!_

The mabari's ears perked up at the sound.

Lía, too, jerked to attention.

Anders pressed his back against the building, hand cupped around his mouth as he threw another meow in the direction of the woman and her friend. No matter how long he spent in the bath, scrubbing at his skin until he was red and the water was cold, the damn smell wouldn't go away. How could one woman be so singularly cruel? What had he done to deserve such a prank?

For hours, he'd sat up in his room, contemplating the perfect way to get revenge. Initially, the idea was to go and stand as close to Lía as possible, looming over her with his scent, a constant reminder of the error in her ways. Plus, he enjoyed standing close to her. But then it hit him.

After spending so much time with Ser Pounce-a-lot, he'd gotten really good at mimicking cats.

They weren't walking anymore. That was a start. Instead, Oak was sniffing around her feet, ears perked atop his head, an interested whine falling from its maw. He barked again, and the mage replied with a louder, "Meeee-ow!"

At that, the mabari set off in a run towards the stall where he stood. The smell of freshly baked bread was enough to keep anyone from smelling _him_, and there was enough shade to keep him out of sight. Plus, it was a perfect end point, what with the wares and the busy bakers and whatnot.

Anders snickered to himself as he saw Lía jerk to attention and take off after the dog. She was fast, but that mabari was looking for a cat, increasing his swiftness tenfold. Oak skidded to a halt in front of the stall, but his paws weren't able to get enough traction on the stones and he skidded forward until his nose was pressed up against the stall.

Lía's stop was far from graceful. Her arms went flailing as she struggled to stop by digging her feet into a crack in the stones. This sent her hopping forward, struggling to keep herself upright. But the momentum she threw back to keep herself from crashing into the stall sent her falling backwards, right onto her rear.

Striding out of the alleyway connecting the back of the Keep to the stall, Anders dug his index and middle finger into his pack. He didn't even regard her as he made his way up to the baker, but he could feel her glaring at his back. Of course she knew it was him. Suddenly she remembered the meowing not sounding quite right. And she _had_ provoked him earlier. Grabbing one of the fresh rolls, he placed the coin in the man's palm and turned on his heel, taking a bite out of the bread before giving Lía a wide smile.

This carried on for two days. Every time he thought he'd topped her and put himself out of the reach of her pranking skills, she proved him wrong. She grew up with an older brother and a dozen men of similar ages in Highever. While her mother was set on her having _some_ ladylike achievements, she never minded when Lía showed the boys that she wasn't some spineless girl.

For once in his life, Anders thought he might actually end up forfeiting.

That was until, while sitting in another annoyingly cold bath, he had an idea. A brilliant, astounding, potentially dangerous idea.

After supper on the second day, as always, Lía was standing by the fire, prodding away at it with a poker. Everyone knew this was her spot. She spent most of her time by that fire, sitting on the low-lying stone step, reading or playing with the tiny chariot she found ages ago out of boredom. Today, however, she seemed entranced by the flames, watching them as they flickered and wavered and popped and hissed and –

Her thoughts _stopped_ the second she felt something on her ass. It took a second for it to register that it was a palm and another for her to gather herself enough to look over her shoulder to see _exactly_ who was greeting her with such a gesture.

"Ah," Lia nearly squeaked out, straightening herself out and clearing her throat as she turned around. "Justice. Uhm. Wh-what was that for?"

"I was told that greeting is acceptable in Highever," the man-corpse-spirit replied, his voice surprisingly warm and not confused or guilty in the slightest. "I admit, I am ignorant of most human traditions. Thankfully, many are willing to teach me."

The Warden nodded to herself. "Anders, right?"

"He's been very help -"

Before he was able to finish his sentence, Lia turned and glared in the mage's direction. He was standing with his back to her, eyes focused on the bookshelves in front of him, though his shoulders were bouncing up and down with stifled laughter.

Without the smallest hint of grace, she stormed over to him and twirled him around. His eyes went wide as she prodded a finger in between his eyes, and for a second, the "potentially dangerous" part of his idea became startlingly clear. He was expecting a punch to the nose or a knee to the groin. Or maybe even death; it depended on how touchy she really was.

Instead, to his surprise, a grin broke forth on her mouth and she shook her head.

"An acceptable greeting in Highever?" she asked, her eyes brightening as she laughed. "Well-played, Anders. Well-played."

He offered her a toothy smile, dusting at the feathers on his shoulder in a triumphant gesture.

"Yeah, I thought so."


	10. Pie

**Prompt : Pie**

When the small elven woman informed him that Lía was in the kitchen, Anders thought she was there looking for something to eat. The woman had an appetite unlike anything he'd ever seen, but she swore up and down that it had everything to do with the Taint.

But when he pushed open the heavy wooden door and laid his eyes upon her, he could see that she most certainly was _not_ merely looking for a snack.

Lía was moving around the kitchen like her arse was on fire, grabbing at ingredients and utensils he couldn't have begun to name. She'd given up her armor for a pair of trousers and an ill-fitting tunic; her hair was tied back away from her face, flour smudging the apple of her cheek. He lingered in the door for a moment, watching her as she kept running around, checking the fire, smashing what appeared to be fruit into the bottom of a bowl, rolling out a sheet of dough on the countertop.

"What in Andraste's name are you doing, woman?"

Lía's eyes flew up to his, her lips parting in a small "o" of surprise. She recovered quickly, however, and kept running around, but not before offering him a wide smile. "What's it look like? And don't call me _woman_."

Anders laughed at that, shutting the door behind him and moving farther into the room. This was one of the most amusing things he'd seen lately. It wasn't merely the fact that someone was baking a pie. It was the idea that _she _was baking a pie. "I didn't realize Growing Up as Nobility included lessons in pie-making."

She shot a mock-glare at him over her shoulder as she leaned closer to the fire, hooking the poker around the grating that hovered above the flames. "You do realize we're surrounded by sharp pointy things right now, right?" Straightening herself out, she hurried over to the counter, giving the bowl of filling a quick stir. "If you want any of this, you'll be nice."

"Do I even _want_ a taste?"

Dipping her index into the thick red jelly, Lía lifted it up and popped it into her mouth. He watched as her eyes fell closed, and she gave a quiet groan. The sound that emanated out of her was nothing short of intense pleasure.

"On second thought," he made his way around the counter, resting a hand casually on her lower back, "I'm pretty sure I do."

Her hand dropped to the counter, "Well, try it, then."

She'd expected him to dip his own finger into the filling, but, really, she should've known better. This was _Anders_ after all. His hand curled around her wrist, pulling her middle finger and thumb down against her palm before dipping the same index into the thick red substance. He then lifted it up to his mouth, suckling happily on the digit. "Ooh, this_ is_ quite good."

Lía laughed heartily. "You're horrible, but thank you." She tried to take her hand back only to find that he was still clasping onto it rather tightly, mouth moving to the other fingertips. Well, this hadn't been what she expected. "I have to get the pie cooking," she whined, giving her hand another tug. He released it with a lopsided smile that was nothing but wicked. "You can have them back when I'm done. I have this one and one for Varel."

"Such a shame," he replied, leaning against the counter and watching as she returned to her work. "Why are _you_ doing this anyway? I can imagine the faces of those poor elves when the Arlessa stormed the kitchen."

Grinning to herself, Lía turned her attention to settling the thin layer of crust onto the top of the pie. "I didn't storm the kitchen. I asked them. Politely." She paused, nearly gnawing on her bottom lip as she focused on settling the dough on at the precisely right angle. When everything was to her liking, she shot him another, smaller smile. "But they did all go as pale as anything."

He followed her as she picked up the pie and made her way over to the fire. This was certainly an intriguing twist in his opinion of Lady Cousland. "So how'd you learn to bake anyway? It doesn't seem like a really helpful gift for the Commander of the Grey."

"Oh?" she asked, grabbing for the iron poker to slide the grating back into position. "Do you have any idea how quickly cookies raise morale?" When he merely nodded, she smiled, giving a little shrug. "Nan spent a lot of time in the kitchen. I spent a lot of time with Nan. I picked up things."

"So she let the Teyrn's daughter play with fire? How did you manage that one?"

Lía shot him a look as she dug a hand into the bag of flour and spread it onto the counter. "I can be _very_ persuasive, you know."

He grinned, "So I've seen, but that's hardly proper conduct for a child."

No sooner had his comment fallen into relative silence did he hear a distinct _thwack_ closely followed by the sensation of a stinging backside. His torso arched as he struggled to see the damage, and he muttered something about indecency as he dusted at the white hand print on his robes. When he looked back at her, he could see her shoulders bobbing as she stifled her laughter. "That's what you get," she snickered, lifting the remaining dough out of the bowl and placing it onto the counter. "I'll have you know that I have other means of persuasion."

A challenge was poised on his lips when she gave him the single saddest, most pathetic face he had _ever seen_. Her already large eyes seemingly doubled in size, and her bottom lip jutted out. Did he see her chin quivering? Her eyes becoming glassy?

"Maker, woman," he half-gasped, clutching at his chest, "I can _feel_ my heart breaking."

At that, she brightened, leaning over to place a small, apologetic smile on his lips. He seemed perfectly fine after that, but she still felt bad. "Now now, there's no need for that. Look, try this." Digging a spoon into the much darker substance she'd be filling Varel's pie with, she lifted it up to his mouth. "They're his favorite, evidently. But it stains, so be careful."

He lapped the filling off of the spoon and made sound that was torn between surprise and delight. "I want _that one_," he laughed, "Have you tried it?"

Scooping up another spoonful, Anders rested a hip against the counter and pressed the spoon to her lips. She rolled her eyes before opening her mouth, waiting for him to tip the spoon over. He did, but not all of the filling landed on her tongue. Some dribbled onto her bottom lip, threatening to spill onto her tunic. She let go of a low whine of disapproval, but was quickly silenced when he leaned forward, free hand curling around the back of her neck to pull her into him.

Lía murmured something he didn't catch into his mouth, and it took all of his power to keep from smiling. She really didn't know when to be quiet. Then again, he had the same problem most of the time.

His fingers laced into her hair as he held her close, dropping the spoon onto the counter and palming the flesh of her hip. Her hands came to rest on his chest as she rolled onto the balls of her feet, her body pressing into his as closely as she could. The sugary sweet filling flavored the kiss, staining their tongues and the splits in their lips.

When he pulled away, he let go of her with much reluctance, dragging the pad of his thumb along his bottom lip to wipe away any of the filling. He couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit smug when he saw her stand there for a moment, eyes still shut, before taking a short breath, releasing it with a small smile. "You're right," she said, her voice little more than a purr. "That one's much better. I wonder if Varel would miss the measly little confection."

"Does he know that you're in here, or was this going to be a delicious surprise?" Anders asked her, moving to stand at her back. He rested his chin on her shoulder, eyes not entirely focused on the pie considering his vantage point. She managed a dimpled grin when she felt his arms curl around her, fingers teasing the fabric of her tunic just above her bellybutton.

"A delicious surprise," she chuckled, "The other one was supposed to be a delicious surprise, too, but you barged in on it."

Burying his nose into her hair, he placed a pair of kisses on the tender underside of her jaw. "And I'm not sorry for it, either." She could tell that he had an idea. It was just so painfully obvious, as it always was. "So... if Varel doesn't know he's receiving a pie, he certainly won't be all that upset if said pie never makes it to him, yes?"

"Evil."

"Well, maybe a little."

Lía laughed. "_Fine_, but you're only going to help me eat both of them if you leave right this instant and let me finish." He nodded, giving her throat another barrage of tiny kisses before finally backing away, nearly making it out of the kitchen before he heard her call out to him in an almost sing-song tone, "I expect to find you in my quarters in an hour."

"I wouldn't dream of disappointing you, _my lady_," Anders said, words heavy with suggestion as he dipped in an extravagant bow before turning and leaving her to finish her task.


	11. Sunburn

**Prompt : Sunburn**

It didn't take long for Lía to surmise that this was the single most pathetic sound she'd heard in her entire life. This was quite a feat considering how often she'd been forced to bandage up Alistair's fingers after he'd gone after Sia, her mabari hound, or dug his hands into a bush in order to snatch up a flower. The now-King-of-Ferelden had the absolute worst pout she'd ever seen, but the noises he made were nothing like this.

Anders bit down on his bottom lip, nostrils flaring as he tried to focus on something entirely _different _from the flames licking at the tops of his shoulders and whatever hellbeast was breathing over his neck. True, the thick substance Lía was smoothing over his burning skin was helping somewhat, but it still hurt. It still hurt a lot.

"Stop being such a big baby," Lia murmured. He could feel her shift her hips over his back, her hands lessening the pressure she'd been applying. "It's just a sunburn. Haven't you ever had a sunburn?"

"No," he huffed. "And this is your fault."

She snorted. "He-ey, I didn't ask you to follow me into the lake."

"You hit me in the face with your tunic. What else was I supposed to do? Fold it and bring it back to camp?"

"You could have." She slid off of his back and fell onto the spot in the bed next to him.

Anders managed a chuckle, carefully measuring his body's movements to lessen the pain. She felt terrible that their little escapade into the lake outside of the Keep ended in him turning the color of a ripened tomato, but there was still a _very_ satisfied piece of her that remembered it was entirely worth it. "You do realize who you're talking to, right?" He lifted his head from the pillow to aim his narrowed eyes at her. "Why didn't _you_ get burned?"

"Didn't I tell you?" she asked, looking up at him with the most innocent expression he'd ever seen her wear. "I wasn't actually raised as nobility, but as a child of the forest just outside of Castle Highever. One day, Teyrn Cousland snatched me up while on a hunt and brought me home. Us forest-dwelling folk embrace the sun from an early age."

"I see," he replied, "Now it all makes sense. A noble wouldn't know how to do that thing with her –"

Lía gave a bark of laughter, cutting him off from whatever he was going to say. "Shut your mouth or lose _your_ tongue."

When her giggling died down, they just rested there for a long moment. Eventually her breathing slowed, and she could see his eyelids growing heavy. But before she could even begin to muse over how _adorable_ he looked, his brow creased. "Maker's breath, woman, what did you put on me?" He twisted his head just far enough to sniff his shoulder before making a face that bordered upon theatrical disgust. "I don't remember seeing you bring in a _corpse_?"

"Oh, it's not that bad." She leaned over to take a whiff. No matter how hard she tried not to, her nose wrinkled just enough for him to see.

"Not that bad, hm?"

"Well, at least it doesn't smell like that stuff I got from Velanna."

Anders' cheeks paled in remembrance. "I'm still bitter about that, you know."

Lía smiled and brought her lips to his forehead, placing a kiss upon the still slightly wrinkled skin. She could feel whatever annoyance melt away beneath her mouth. "I know," she chuckled, giving his forehead another kiss and then another. "It'll go away soon. I've used this before. It works the best, in my experience. But you have to relax first."

Giving him a lingering final kiss, she turned to get off of the bed only to feel a hand rest on her wrist. The odd angle had him whimpering like a pup, but he didn't let go of her.

"Don't go," he murmured, half-muffled by the pillow, "I relax better when you're here."


	12. Ripple

**Prompt : Ripple**

"Well, this is awkward," Anders mused to himself as Oghren made his way back over to the cask on the other side of the room.

Everything had been perfectly _fine_ before the dwarf opened his mouth. Sure, he'd been a little annoyed that Lia was sitting so close to the king. And kept smiling at him. And laughing at all his ridiculous jokes. He figured it was only because they were good friends. After traveling around Ferelden for a year and swatting off the Blight like an insect, they would become quite close, wouldn't they?

He was fine with that explanation until Oghren sat down beside him and began to go on about their _history_, about how "sodding chivalrous" King Alistair was and how moony-eyed she got when he was around. Of course, being the sort of fellow he was, he _hardly_ stopped there. No, he lifted up his pint and regaled Anders with a hearty, "I never expected to hear a woman like that _whimper_ in such a way. Thought it was the dog at first."

So now he was staring daggers at the other man, which was hardly fair, but he wasn't considering the fairness of it all. All he could see is the way Lía kept _grinning_ at him and how King Alistair just took everything in stride, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

Dinner was extremely uncomfortable. At least, it was for him.

By now, he was certain the dwarf had something against him, though he couldn't imagine why. At one point during the drawn-out afternoon, he piped up and made a loud comparison between Lía's former lover and her current one. "The only diff'rence is that _you_ could actually lift the woman off her feet!" he laughed in Alistair's direction.

Oghren didn't know about them, did he? How would anyone know? Had she told him? Was everyone else privy to this information?

He could tell by how Lia's eyes widened that she was asking herself the same questions.

Alistair, however, was _intensely_ amused by the comment, hefting up his shoulders and lifting his mug of beer in his friend's direction. "A much needed boost to my ego, Oghren," he cheered, taking a long swig from the drink. The mage was too busy gaping at Lía to see the king's dark eyes flash to him for a moment before he continued. "I can't believe I've actually _missed_ you."

But whatever stumbling block Oghren set down in front of him, Anders scrambled over it and soldiered on. He wouldn't sit there, gaping like an idiot, while the two men went on at his expense. "I see no reason why I'd have to lift her. She isn't the sort of woman who would let herself be _carried_."

"And what if she's wounded?" Alistair countered, setting his pint down on the table and leaning forward, "A twisted ankle or an arrow to the leg?"

"I'm a healer." Anders sounded almost smug, and the small tilt of a smile he wore was definitely so. He matched Alistair's lean forward. "I'd have her fixed up before you could run back to whoever has the bandages. And with no bumpy ride or unnecessary pain."

Lía glanced between the two of them. She couldn't help but be impressed by Anders' bravado in the face of the king. Then again, they were _men_. They'd go to the ends of the world in order to prove their worth.

Still, she felt terrible. She hadn't ever mentioned her relationship with Alistair to Anders. It wasn't that she hadn't been given the chance; she was just worried that he wouldn't take it well, that it'd make him feel like he had to prove himself to her, which wasn't what she wanted.

The supper seemed to stretch on forever. Lía played the role of the peacemaker, as she often did in situations like this, but she could tell that this wasn't over by a long shot. Suddenly, she wasn't looking forward to settling in for the night. Alistair didn't seem to recognize her unease, as he yawned and stretched and offered his most sincere apology. It was a long ride from Denerim to the Keep, after all.

So she watched as everyone slowly trickled out of the dining room. It wasn't long before even Anders got up and left without so much as a word of his heading.

"Great," she muttered to herself, "Of course he's not pleased with me. I wouldn't be happy, either."

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she lifted herself from her chair and set off towards her quarters. She'd have to figure out some way to make it up to him. While most would assume he was the sort of man who'd respond well to more _physical_ favors, she'd tried that once and it hadn't ended well. When someone prodded too hard at his ego, he wasn't afraid to snap back, and trying to get him out of his robes at that point was a bad idea.

She was running over the possibilities when she opened the door to her room only to find Anders sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at her. Her brows shot up in surprise. "I didn't expect... Uh, hello."

"What?" he asked, "Did you really think some _king_'s going to come along and knock me on my arse?"

He had. She could tell. Even if Anders was quick to say otherwise, she could see how tense he was, and that often noted his discomfort. "I'm sorry; I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have."

"I didn't think it was worth mentioning...?"

Anders gave a quiet laugh. The sound was harsher than he intended. "What about me, then? You didn't think your _relationship _with the _king_ was worth mentioning. Where does that leave _me_?"

He watched as her lips parted. He could see her jaw working, her eyes falling to the floor in front of her as she thought of what she should say. Some part of him should have felt horrible for putting her on the spot like this, but that sliver of empathy was overwhelmed by his own frustration. Why hadn't she told him? Had she expected it to go over well when he did find out?

"Don't do this," she murmured, and her eyes finally met his again.

But he didn't stand down. He _refused_ to stand down, if only for his ego's sake.

Lía's brow creased, the corner of her mouth sliding downwards. "Don't compare yourself to him, Anders. It's not the same. He deserved more than I could give him."

The words were out of her mouth before she'd given herself time to think them over.

Any other man would've exploded. They would've gone on a tirade, screaming and shouting and cursing at her, berating her former lover, ripping every word out of her mouth to shreds. Anders merely nodded. He stood up from her bed and moved past her, out of the door.

She didn't know which was worse.


	13. Yours

**Prompt : Yours**

The next few days were painful.

Truly, claiming they were "painful" would have been a sore understatement. Lía spent most of them with Varel, trying desperately to stay away from both Anders and Alistair, offering the king the excuse of having an arling to watch over. Every time she passed Anders, in the Keep's many hallways or in the throne room, he didn't even bother looking away. He merely stared at her. While his eyes weren't angry, they also lacked the glittering mirth she'd grown used to seeing reflected in the deep brown.

She tried her best to distract herself. Between signing whatever Varel placed on her desk and choking down whatever meal was presented to her, she tried to come up with some sort of apology, some way to get him to realize that she hadn't meant what she said. Well, she _had_ meant it, but she hadn't been given the chance to explain herself.

On the third afternoon, Lía was sitting with Varel in the study. He was discussing with her the idea of sending her out for recruitment, claiming the Commander of the Grey could pluck up more of them than just any old Warden. But it was clear she wasn't listening. From her uncharacteristically poor posture to the way she kept biting on her bottom lip, he read her like an open book.

"You should talk to him," he murmured, setting himself down in the chair opposite her.

Lía glanced up from the dark knot in the arm of her chair to look at him, brow cocked. "Hm? I'm sorry; I wasn't paying attention. Who should I talk to?"

He merely looked at her, and she gave a short, emotionless laugh. "Oh."

"Even if you don't do it for yourself, you have to keep morale high." It figured the seneschal would bring up the _logical_ reason for her to gather up her courage and apologize. She hated it – the fact that it was her fault the normally charismatic Anders was being so distant _and_ the fact that she couldn't keep her mouth shut for two seconds.

She shut the book on her desk and stood up. "Very well, then," she said, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a sigh. "I'll be back to finish this discussion later."

When Lía disappeared through the door, Varel settled back in his chair, pulling the book onto his lap and smirking to himself. Anyone who had half a brain and knew _anything_ about Anders would know that what she said was a lie of the highest order. He didn't mind. This gave him enough time alone to work on the guard assignments. Thrilling stuff.

It was remarkably easy to find people in the Keep, especially considering the size. Or, at least, the Maker seemed set on making you bump into the object of your desires or woes every time you turned a corner.

Lía gave a quiet sound of surprise when her shoulder impacted his, and she whirled around, not so much as losing her balance. All she saw when she turned was the back of his head. He was walking away. Her hand flew out and grabbed his wrist, inadvertently jerking him backwards.

"I have to talk to you," Lía began in one small burst of words.

Anders slipped his wrist from her hand, but didn't walk away. He lingered, just as she hoped he would. Maybe she really would be able to talk to him, to apologize. "And why is that?" he asked, rubbing at his wrist as he stared back at her.

Her instinct was to defend herself, but she thrust her shoulders down and took a step back. "Anders," she murmured, her voice dropping to a curious low. "You didn't give me a chance to explain myself." When he didn't seem to follow, no doubt by his own volition, she continued, "About what I said the other day, about Alistair."

"Ah," the mage replied, deadpan. "Then, by all means, explain. I'm quivering in anticipation."

_Maker, if you aren't the most frustrating man in all of Thedas_.

Lía bit down hard on her lip to keep the condemnation silenced. Now was _not_ the time. In fact, it was positively the worst time to say such a thing. "Alistair and I do have a past. It's true." Her jaw worked as she thought of how to continue. What should she say? How much should she include, and what should she leave out? She hadn't explained their "situation" to anyone since she'd been reunited with Fergus. "We were the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden. I'd lost my parents; he lost Duncan. We needed someone to latch onto. With the Blight and everything, we didn't know if we'd ever get another chance."

The good sign was that he was still there, still listening, even if his expression hadn't changed from that apathetic mask he'd greeted her with. He stood there, arms crossed, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip to keep from interrupting. If anything, he owed her an explanation.

"He wanted more than I was willing to give him," she confessed, "There was too much death, too much uncertainty. I just wanted someone to talk to while we did what we had to." She could remember those nights at camp more vividly than she'd have liked. She didn't dislike Alistair in any form of the word for what happened. So she wasn't queen. That hardly mattered; he was happy and so was she. Well, relatively so. "I couldn't give him what he deserved because it wasn't mine to give at the time."

A sigh shook in her chest. _If you shed a single sodding tear, he's never going to let you live it down_, she reminded herself, shaking her head.

Her eyes were too thoroughly focused on the stones beneath her feet to see his soften.

"I didn't mean that you don't deserve just as much as he does. It came out wrong, and you left before I could clarify what I meant. And these past few days have been absolutely _horrible_. I should've come to you sooner, but I wasn't sure what I'd say. I still don't, really. I just want you to forgive me – for what I said and for not telling you about Alistair sooner."

Anders watched her begin to ramble, forcing down the desire to reach out and touch her arm. "So you expect me to just forget about it and move on? You were with the _king_, Lía. If things were different, you'd be queen."

"But things aren't different," she insisted, a pleading note in her voice. When she looked up at him, he could see her eyes glittering, even in the dimly lit hallway. "I didn't love _him_."

Silence fell over them both. For once in the months she'd known him, Anders couldn't find two words to string together, and she bit down on her tongue to keep from saying anything that would embarrass her farther. She hadn't meant to tell him like this. Such a thing was meant for those quiet moments at night or after a walk in the woods, not hurried and clumsily spoken.

"I," Lía said, her brows knitting. "I should probably go. Varel still needs my help."

At that, she turned to leave in the entirely wrong direction. A single, lengthy stride later, fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging her back to where she'd been standing. Another hand fell to the slope of her neck, and he pulled her flush against him in a kiss.

True, it was no confession. She didn't know if it was his way to avoid returning the sentiment or if it was his way of doing so. Without question, she preferred to think of it as the latter.


	14. Temptation

Well, he hadn't been expecting _that_.

Truthfully, he was expecting the throne room to be completely empty upon entering. And dark. And _empty_. As he now saw, this was not the case at all. It was relatively dark, compared to the usual constantly flickering bonfire in the very center, but there was a much smaller cluster of flames behind the throne, flanked by twin torches that just just enough light on the seat itself for him to see _her_.

He actually had to nonchalantly rub at his chin to push the slacked jaw back up into its normal position.

From a distance, he hadn't been completely sure it was Lía. It took his taking a few strides forward before he was able to remind himself that there wasn't anyone in the Keep who had the gall to sit on that throne, much less sit on the throne wearing _that_.

He swallowed as his mouth watered at the sight of her, staring at him with a tilt of a smile on her lips. No, that wasn't a smile. That was the smirk of a woman who knew damn well what she was doing. One long leg was crossed over the other, revealing a lengthy gash in her dress. From the distance and poor lighting, he couldn't tell the color, but it was dark, and it contrasted with her skin. Which she was showing a lot of. _A lot_. From the teardrop-shaped hole that dipped between her collarbones to her bare shoulders and arms, all the way down to the span of thigh that only lasted until it hit a pair of stockings.

_Maker_, she was wearing stockings.

"Uh," Anders began, mentally kicking himself at the same time for all his eloquence. "Hello."

He watched her as she shifted from one arm of the throne to the other, her chin poised on a balled fist. "Hello." Her tone wasn't intentionally seductive, as most women would have made sure of, but so sodding _casual_ that it almost made the mage whimper.

Clearing his throat, he lifted his shoulder and grinned. "So... Is this all for me?"

His eyes never left her as she stood from the throne, and he clenched his jaw to keep it from sinking downward a second time. The fabric was cinched around her waist, only serving to "enhance" the curve of her hips. Repressing the sudden urge to reach out and grab them, he chuckled under his breath, nearly gnawing on his bottom lip. He'd always figured himself a breast man until he met Lía.

"That's the plan, yes," Lía replied. Eventually. She'd moved over to him before speaking, her thumb toying along the width of his chin. Ah, so she _was_ capable of lowering her voice like that. And had he detected a hint of throatiness?

It took all of his restraint to keep from kissing her right then. "Good plan," he murmured, that confident half-grin of his returning as he settled his hands on the small of her back.

_Silk. She's wearing silk. _

_And it's purple._

_She looks so _gorgeous_ in pur –_

His thoughts were all but severed when he felt her lips brush against his. While the kiss didn't last longer than a few moments, she released him with a suggestive nip of his bottom lip. "The very best." Her voice was almost a _growl_ now. And Maker's mercy, her stomach was pressed flat against his. He could feel her against – "Or, it _was_ the plan."

_What?_

Her jaw jutted out slightly in something almost akin to a pout. "You kept me waiting, you know. I was sitting on that throne for almost two hours."

Anders' mouth fell open. "But, I didn't – I couldn't – I didn't know – _what_?"

Lía shrugged, and he felt like his heart had fallen to his toes. There was something _wrong_ with this picture, something decidedly wicked gleaming in her eyes. It was a bad sign that he could see this even in the dim lighting. "Varel will be back here soon. I was hoping we'd have a little time to ourselves. To, uhm... enjoy the furniture."

"Soon? How soon is soon?"

"A quarter of an hour at the most," she murmured, her hand moving to smooth over the dark fur on his shoulder. "And I'd really rather _not_ be caught with my head in your lap."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tilted his chin down to look her in the eye. Before he was able to say anything, however, she dropped her hand from his shoulder and turned around. Her steps away from him were slow, as if she was purposely lingering to get him to step up and tell her to wait.

What she _wasn't_ expecting was to feel his hands on her hips as she moved into the hallway.

She stopped, brows cinching, before turning to him in question.

"Go on then," he lifted a hand to motion towards the stairs, "I know of any number of things I can do in fifteen minutes."


	15. Storm

"So do you swing that thing around _all_ the time?"

Lía very nearly got the end of a blunt sparring sword in the crook of her neck when she whirled around to roll her eyes at the mage. Letting out a startled grunt, she parried the blow, gripping the end of the blade and thrusting the soldier's sword away. He took three steps backwards, clearly amused by almost having gotten a shot on her.

"You didn't complain all that much when I cut down that genlock emissary that almost toasted your skirt," she countered, twisting the hilt of the sword in her hand and taking a step to the side. Her gray eyes focused on the soldier, but all of her attention was focused on Anders, who was actually _laughing_ at her snide remark. Figures.

"You know what they say about all work and no play, Commander."

The soldier attacked again, seeing her distraction, only to receive a knee to the lower stomach, a wordless warning to not take advantage of her at the moment. When a sword came down again, it belonged to Lia, and the two exchanged a long string of blows, each parried. They'd been in a stalemate almost all afternoon until Anders showed up. He was too damn distracting for his own good.

Above the sparring ring, dark clouds rolled over the Keep. Still, the threat of rain seemed an empty one. Thunder rumbled for hours on end. The wind had picked up since, but that was the only other hint towards a storm.

"And if I consider this play?" she called out, her question ending in another grunt as she was forced to hop backwards as the soldier lashed out in a horizontal attack. She was impressed.

The mage gave a snort of laughter. "I'd be worried." Maker, he was frustrating. Half of the time, he amused her, while the other half was spent contemplating why she hadn't fed him to those rabid templars the second they showed up with Alistair. He had a big mouth. Granted, so did she, but she knew when to shut up.

"You shouldn't bite the hand that saves your arse, Anders."

He rolled his eyes skyward just in time to feel a fat drop of water land between his brows. A quiet 'eugh' later, he was wiping it away with his sleeve. "Yeah, well, you should hurry up. It's raining." Watching as Lía and the soldier continued wailing at each other, he shifted on his feet, dusting another few droplets off of his robes. Neither of them were slowing down. _Stubborn_, he thought to himself, shaking his head.

"It's not _raining_. It's been like this for hours. If it was going to rain, it would ha-"

Her words all but cued the beginnings of a downpour. Fate most certainly hated her. The Commander gave a surprised screech, but didn't drop her sword or run for cover. Instead, she kept at her match, despite the soldier's sudden hesitance to do the same.

Anders watched wide eyed as she kept going, boots digging into the dirt beneath her that was quickly turning into mud. If anything, the rain picked up her speed, and, surprisingly enough, her efficiency didn't slack. For the first time since she'd entered the ring, she actually had the advantage. _She's going to fall_, he thought, _She's going to slip and fall, and she's going to be covered in mud. I don't know if I'm excited or not_.

A few moments later, he realized something.

He was still standing in the rain.

Making a disgusted sound at himself, he turned and ran towards the nearest canopy, his boots skittering on the slick ground. He made it to his destination without slipping a single time, but the bottom of his robe was nearly caked in mud. He didn't even want to think about his boots.

Spinning around once in the safety of the overhang, he looked to see if Lía had followed him. "Of course not," he murmured to himself, curling an arm around one of the columns holding up the short canopy. The end of the match was close, though, considering she now had the wooden sword at the soldier's throat. When she was satisfied, she tossed the sword over the wall of the ring and started off in a run towards the other side, in his direction.

_Don't run. Don't run. Oh, Maker, you're going to _fall,_ and I'm going to be forced to laugh._

He cringed when he saw Lía hop over the low-lying wall onto the ground, the soles of her boots sliding on the mud until she was forced to brace herself on the fence. Pausing there for a moment, she regained her bearings and took off again, a self-satisfied smile on her lips despite the fact that she was soaked to the skin.

When she finally reached the overhang, she skidded to a stop, completely out of breath. Her approach was less than graceful, but the finale was almost impressive. Her boots slid, heel digging into the ground just enough to turn her around until she was facing out into the rain. She bent down, hands on her bent knees, as she let her lungs catch up to everything else. "You weren't joking," she gasped, offering a laugh. "It was _definitely_ raining."

"You ought to listen to me more often," Anders smirked, turning and leaning a shoulder against the column. "I'm right _some_ of the time, you know."

"Maybe."

She was smiling. That was the first thing he realized. She was smiling, and her cheeks were flushed bright pink. Tendrils of black clung to her face, obscuring the light in her eyes. She looked mighty amused for a woman who'd just gotten rained on. While he was the sort of man to avidly admire others, he never really gave the Commander a second thought. She was the Hero of Ferelden, after all, wasn't she? And the Warden-Commander. And he was sure there were times when she hated him. A lot of times. But, all this aside, she almost looked... pretty like this.

"You look like Ser Pounce after a bath."

_Alright. Mood officially ruined_.

"Are you _always_ this charming?" he asked her, bristling a little. Straightening up from his position by the column, he moved farther into the overhang, away from the rain. "Because, if so, remind me not to take notes."

Lía repressed the urge to roll her eyes at him again. Instead, she crossed her arms, hands running up and down her biceps in an attempt to warm herself. Early spring was never a good time in the north of Ferelden when it came down to the weather. Add a chilly rain to the mix, and she was surprised she hadn't frozen on her way here.

"Cold?" She glanced up to see that Anders was standing just a little bit closer to her than he had been before. Not willing to admit that she was, she gave a dismissive shrug instead. "Here, let me try something."

"What? Are you going to set me on fire?"

Her laugh was a loud, nervous bark, and it shook as her body gave a hard shiver. The mage clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and took another step forward. His fingers slid over her forearms, leaving a magic warmth in their wake. The heat seemed to seep right into her bones, and she bit back the urge to groan happily.

"Oh," she murmured. "Well, then."

"I could still set you on fire, if you'd like."

Lía gave a tremulous laugh, shutting her eyes just as she felt his fingers slide beneath her rolled sleeve. "I think I'll pass this time."


	16. Trust

**Prompt : Trust**

Líadan's effusive thanks had Master Wade grinning and flushing like a schoolboy. He waved his hands at her, shaking his head and laughing, swearing that she needn't thank him. "It's my _pleasure_, Commander. You've been good to Herren and me. Hasn't she Herren?"

She could almost hear Herren's eyes roll. When he spoke, his voice was nearly monotone. "Yes, Commander. So good to us. We hardly deserve the patronage."

"This is the least I could do," Wade added, reaching forward to touch the box in Lia's hands. There was a certain look of pride on his face. Of course he was proud. She'd seen inside of the box. It was a genuine work of art. "We had all that extra material, after all."

Wetting her bottom lip, she grinned. "I'm just glad you were able to make them. It was an odd request."

"An odd request?" He scoffed. "I've made three pairs for, ah, personal use. This was no trouble at all."

"_Wade_!"

The armorer gave Lía a toothy smile, narrowly avoiding his partner's dagger-like glare. Lowering his voice to an almost conspiratory level, he leaned forward. "I always thought you were the sort, Commander. I found a few anti-magic runes for them..." His grin widened. "Just to be sure."

Her eyes widened, and she instinctively clutched the box closer to her chest. Anti-magical runes? Why hadn't she thought of that? A bright, if devious smile curled at her mouth. "You are a miracle worker, Wade. You really are."

"I know, I know." Waving her off with a flash of his wrist, he chuckled. "Now go enjoy those. And remember to tell me what he thinks of them!"

Lia gave a snort of laughter. "In lurid detail?"

"I want to know _everything_."

The objective was to make it through the throne room without being intercepted, which was something far more easily said that done all things considered. Everyone was standing around with very little to do.

Nate stood near Ambassador Cera, but thankfully he was distracted enough not to bother looking up from their conversation. Oghren had his cheek pressed up against the cask, while Justice looked on, either asking him what was the matter or musing to himself if the dwarf was trying to find another way into it. Sigrun was reading with her back against the shelf, legs crossed and hair in her face. Velanna was seated on the far side of the room, alone, in front of her herbs. Even from this distance, she could tell no one knew what she was doing, as Varel kept glancing over his shoulder, obviously paranoid.

It wasn't just that she was low on luck. The fact that Anders came walking up as she ducked into the hallway leading to her chambers proved that she didn't have any at all. None. He was no longer in his robes, having opted for trousers and a loose fitting shirt, given they were more comfortable and even a little discreet.

His eyes lit up when he saw she was carrying something, though this light faded when she strode directly past him. Skipping a few strides to catch up with her, his hand went to rest on her waist. She made no effort to nudge him away. "Ooh, this for me?"

"Sort of," Lía murmured, hip checking him just enough for his movements to shuffle to the side.

"Sort of? What kind of answer is that?"

"The right one." Glancing over her shoulder at him, she managed a tiny smile before resting the box on her hip to open the door. She took a step into the room and then nodded into it. "It's for both of us. Now get in."

He gave her a curious expression before hurrying inside, but not before bending at the shoulders just far enough to place a small kiss just beneath her jaw. Once inside, he went over to their bed, sitting on the end of it and running his hands through his hair. "A gift. For both of us. Do I get any hints?"

"Master Wade made them," she replied as she set the box on her vanity and began removing her armor.

Anders watched her intently, his lips pursed as he began to contemplate the statement. Master Wade was an armorer. The contents of that box couldn't be another set. Tilting his head to the side, he looked over the gauntlet she placed beside it. The box was the right width, but the length was wrong. Plus, what would he do with gauntlets?

Had he made them a cheese knife? A letter opener? A really tiny dagger? None of these ideas were particularly exciting. Not enough to warrant that flush on her cheeks, at least. Maker, it wasn't a chastity belt, was it? She was a notorious tease. They couldn't be...

"Any more?" he rasped, surprised to find how dry his throat suddenly was.

She looked over her shoulder as her hands went to work on the straps of her pauldrons. "We've talked about them," she said softly, not allowing her words to give him any hint whatsoever. The name of this game wasn't giving away what lay within the box, but tormenting him until he just gave up.

Anders fell backwards onto the bed, his hands crossing over his stomach. "We've talked about lots of things, Lía. That's hardly a hint." But at least he knew it wasn't a chastity belt, as he'd feared. They'd never talked about that.

All thoughts of the gift stopped when he looked over to see she was bending down to remove her greaves. He liked it when she removed her own armor various reasons. His lack of patience disliked all the straps and individual pieces. Whatever clumsiness he'd retained since coming of age hated how heavy it was. And his appreciative side liked it for two very obvious reasons. Those thighs could make a dwarf praise Andraste.

She knew it, too, as the moment she set the second greave carefully on the floor, she straightened her posture slowly and rocked onto the balls of her feet to stretch.

When Lia turned around, she was wearing a wide smile. "Ready to find out?" she asked him, grabbing for the box.

"Mm, I suppose you could say that."

Moving over to him, her grin turned into something decidedly wolfish. He'd seen that face before, but it was usually reserved for when she could sense a cluster of darkspawn around the corner or Mistress Woolsey said there was venison in the kitchens. "Climb up to the top of the bed and rest on the pillows, will you?"

That was all the urging he required. Kicking off his boots, he hurried up to the top of the bed, turning around until he rested his shoulders on the headboard. "Like this?"

"Exactly like that," she replied with a smaller smile.

Climbing up onto the bed, the box held against her, she made her way towards him. Her agonizing pace only served to have Anders shift beneath her as she straddled his thighs and rested the box on his lap.

It was heavy; much heavier than he expected. Glancing down at it, he narrowed his eyes before looking back up at her. "So what is it?"

"Let me open the box first," she chided, thumbing open the latch.

Anders' pulse quickened when he realized exactly what the gift was. Nestled on a lining of purple velvet was a pair of manacles. They matched the metal of her armor, just as the padding around the insides of them matched the box's lining.

"You told me the other day that you trusted me more than you trust anyone in Thedas," she said, her voice gone quiet. Even the grin had disappeared, replaced witha sober expression. Lifting the manacles from the box, she weighed them in her hands. "So I asked Wade to make them."

Lifting his hands to her face, Anders brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. "I meant every word of it, you know."

She nodded, her lips twisting in a much smaller smile than before. "I wanted to give you something back," she continued, lifting up the box and moving it to the side. "To show you that the feeling's mutual, to show you that I'm not trying to tie you down to anything here."

Shifting forward until her stomach was resting against his, she nuzzled her cheek against his, her mouth lingering dangerously close to his ear.

"I want you to use them on me."


	17. Puppy Love

**Prompt : Puppy Love**

Anders began getting suspicious not long after they began sleeping in the same bed.

Sometimes Lía would wake in the middle of the night to wriggle closer to him – he was secure enough in his masculinity to allow her to be the big spoon some nights – only to murmur affectionately into his ear. This in itself wouldn't have been suspicious if she'd whispered his name, but it was hardly ever his name. She's give her lips a quiet smack, brushing a hand over his chest, and go, "Mm, Moira."

At first, the idea that she was mistaking him for a woman was... unsettling. That was, until he realized exactly what her snuggling and murmuring entailed. After that idea began swimming around in that brain of his, he concocted an idea of who this Moira must have been.

He eventually decided that Moira was a friend from childhood. She had flaming red hair and a heart-shaped face. Blue eyes, maybe, or brown, but not green. No, that was too typical. Lía didn't appreciate the typical. She was short and curvy, even plump, and had a wide, toothy smile. They'd gotten closer as Lía began training, as he father was the armorer in Highever. During one summer in particular, they'd grown even _closer_, eventually realizing they loved each other, leading to a rather torrid consummation of their feelings and many, many reiterations of said feelings during the next year.

To say that he was quite pleased with his imaginings was an understatement. He was almost sure that this was exactly how things had panned out, as well.

So when Lía burst into their bedroom holding a note, Anders was hardly surprised by her excitement. She was grinning from ear to ear, her cheeks flushed, and unable to catch her breath. It looked like she'd run all the way from the private in front of the gates to here. In full armor. In the middle of summer. But her steps were surprisingly light as she hurried over to him to sit on the bed, ignoring the petulant creek from the furniture when she set her weight upon it.

"I just got a letter from Fergus!" she said, her eyes wide. He was sure he'd never heard her sound so _excited_ about anything in his entire time knowing her. "I wrote to him asking if he could send Moira to the Keep, and he said yes! She'll be here within the end of the week!"

"Ooh, Moira's coming, eh?" he asked, unable to keep the slightly suggestive lilt from his voice. He really hadn't meant that, but it was worth the surprised expression on Lía's face.

She blinked at him. "You... know about Moira?"

"What? Me? No!" He shook a hand at her, clearing his throat in an attempt to remove whatever letch was stuck in it. Still, his thoughts were already straying. They were in something of a serious relationship. Surely she wasn't inviting Moira over to continue whatever they had, was she? They'd gotten into an argument over Moira's engagement to the grocer's son and broken things off, after all.

_That was the – admittedly cliché – end to your own daydreams, you idiot. _

_Oh. _

_Right._

So she could have invited Moira to visit... for what? Was she going to suggest they include her in their own activities?

Anders' eyes widened a little at the thought, blinking it away when he realized she was talking again.

"- been so long since I've seen her." Lía was wringing the letter in her hands, successfully crumpling the already creased vellum. He'd never seen her so _gleeful_ over anything. It was equal parts unsettling and satisfying. "I wonder how she's been. The last time I left, she didn't see me off because she was so upset that she wasn't coming with me."

Setting a hand on her back, he leaned forward, tapping his index finger on her chin. She looked over at him, her smile widening. "She'll be happy to see you, methinks. How long's it been? Five, six months?"

"Seven! Argh! It's not fair; I wanted to bring her with me!" Her features distorted in a woeful look made unbelievable due to her unwavering grin. "I knew it would be even more dangerous here than what she'd already been through, but she's so strong. Knows how to hold her own in a fight, too."

"Is that _so_?"

"Yeah," Lía chuckled, leaning into his arm, but careful to keep his robes from snagging in her mail. Pulling herself close, her lids drooped downward, the smile on her face softening until it was nothing more than a quirk at the corner of her generous mouth. "And she's an _amazing_ snuggler. It was difficult sleeping without her until I found you."

_Well, that is certainly a suggestive tone of voice_, he thought to himself, arching a brow to match the one raised on her forehead. "And I assume I'll be kicked out of your bed the moment she arrives?"

Laughing, she shook her head. When she spoke, her tone was lighter; casual. "Oh, I know for a fact that she'll just climb right in between us."

At that, Lía gave him a peck on his cheek, a bare hand smoothing through his hair, and stood up. "I have to go speak to Varel about making the Keep ready for her arrival. She's been on a very strict diet lately; evidently all this sitting around has made her go soft."

And then she was gone, leaving Anders sitting on the foot of their bed with a rather gobsmacked expression on his face.

If there'd been any question as to his place as Luckiest Bastard in All of Thedas, this had certainly sealed the deal.

* * *

The day Moira arrived at the Keep, Anders was sure he was even more excited than Lía was. They stood at the gates together, eyes focused on the road ahead. At first, she'd questioned his desire to be there, but he was quick to insist that he wanted to be there because it made him happy to see her so happy, that he wanted to "experience" this joy with her.

While it wasn't _utter_ toss, his intentions weren't so pristine and chivalrous, either. The thought that, in a scant few minutes, the small caravan bringing Lía's former-lover-and-bed-intruder-extraordinaire would be making her way up to see them.

_I wonder if they'll greet each other with a kiss_.

Pursing his lips, he decided that while he didn't mind this idea entirely, he'd prefer them share a lingering embrace. No matter how wonderful the idea of being smashed between two beautiful women, he couldn't help but get the slightest bit jealous of this _Moira_, and he had yet to actually meet her. He'd never heard Lía speak so highly of anyone. Even Oghren seemed excited at the woman's arrival, though that was hardly surprising. He _was_ their token lecherous dwarf, after all.

The moment the caravan was at sight, he saw Lía's muscles tense. Without the weight of her armor pressing her closer to the ground, she drifted onto the balls of her feet, neck craned to get a better look at what lay ahead. He could see her bouncing slightly, her fingers tapping absently on her thighs as she waited – and _waited –_ for them to get closer.

When they were finally in sight, Lía took off in a run in the direction of the men, kicking up far more dust than he could bear to ingest. He was in the middle of a coughing fit when he heard Lía's voice rise above the sounds of the men. "Moira!" she shouted, skittering to a halt and going to her knees in front of...

"A _mabari_?"

The beast tackled the Commander to the ground, its large paws near crushing her shoulders into the dust as she licked at Lía's face. Running her hands along the mabari's muscles, she let out a loud laugh before lifting herself up far enough to cover the dog's face in loud smacks of kisses. "Good girl!" she near-cackled, throwing her arms around Moira's thick neck and squeezing her in a tight hug. "Welcome to the Keep! _Oh, I missed you so much_!"

Anders' jaw worked, lips parted in a lingering surprised. Well, at least he'd gotten one thing right.

She _was_ a redhead.


	18. Strip

**prompt : strip**

"Commander!"

Thrusting the pummel of her greatsword into the chest of the darkspawn in front of her, Líadan Cousland lifted a foot to kick the creature backwards. It crashed onto one of its brethren, leading them both into a pile of writhing armor. "What is it?" she called out, unwilling to turn her eyes from the things in front of her. "There should be enough lyrium potion in your pack!"

Velanna rolled her eyes before lifting her staff high in the air, a cool rush of air flowing over her as her spell was released. The hurlock struggling to stand from Lía's blow froze and then fell atop the other one for the second time.

"There's no more! I wouldn't have said anything if there was!"

Hurrying past the body that crossed the path, her eyes settled on the hurlock sniper a few yards off. Even from this distance, she could see the bulky muscles in his arm twitch as he pulled back an arrow aimed in Justice's direction. "Anders, cover us!"

When he didn't reply, she picked up speed, her heavy feet kicking up dust on the crowded road. Their path had been empty mere moments before, but now it was littered with bodies and the thick, black blood of darkspawn. Justice was too focused on the emissary to see the sniper's arrow leave its bow. Only when his shoulder snapped back did his axe give pause.

"That's the point!" Anders' voice lifted above the clashing of swords and armor, the sizzle of lightning and shifting of vines; it was shriller than usual. Something was wrong. "I need healing!"

A swing of her greatsword impacted the sniper's shoulder, and it staggered to the side. This blow did little to distract it, as no more than a moment later, another arrow was pulled from its quiver and shot towards the mage.

Lía let out a low growl before taking a step back, her thighs tensing as she drew herself closer to the ground to find the leverage she needed to thrust the blade forward. The hurlock roared in pain when the sharp blade pierced the muscles in its upper arm, forcing it to drop the bow, which fell to the ground in another puff of dirt. Yellowed eyes stared up at her, a mouth filled with broken teeth opening as a litany of jumbled, wordless threats left its lips.

All it took was another swing of her heavy sword, and the hurlock sniper fell to the ground in a pile of bones and rusted armor, the putrid smell of darkspawn blood rolling over her as the thing's neck spurted at her.

Lips curled downward in disgust, she spat on the ground next to its body before turning towards her party.

Velanna was standing near Justice as he pulled himself up off of the ground, her attention turned entirely towards the pack in her arms. She was looking for _something _– a lyrium potion, a poultice, even some elfroot would have been enough to sate her at the moment, but she could find nothing but a bit of alcohol and bandages. Justice opened his own pack, and, knowing what she was looking for, removed a small vial, palming it over to her.

Just as she saw the elf's mouth move in what appeared to be a _thank you_, Lía heard a short peal of laughter from the opposite direction. The sound was tight and less than genuine. That was when she remembered Anders' shouting.

Dropping her sword onto the ground, she hurried over to him, coming to a full stop mere feet away from him. Her eyebrows tilted upwards in concern, but he couldn't see them. He was too busy staring at the arrow sticking out of his hip, his fingers shaking as they moved around the arrow's jagged fletching, so overcome with surprise that he could hardly blink, much less speak.

"I've seen worse," Lía murmured, a poor attempt to get his attention. She swallowed back the urge to call for Velanna's help, instead biting down on her bottom lip and shifting on her feet. "I've _had _worse."

"Yes, well, this doesn't usually happen to me, you see." His eyes moved up to hers, though his chin was still tilted downward, his frayed ponytail sending his blonde hair over his face. "It's all very-" Taking a shaky breath, he let go of the arrow, only daring to touch it again once and this time with no more than the tips of his fingers. "_Very_ new. To me. _Maker's breath, get it out._"

Reaching out, she grasped his shoulder, bending just far enough downwards to look into his face. "Relax," she said, sure to soften the hardened edge in her voice. "You said you needed lyrium. I suppose this means you don't have enough mana to heal yourself."

"Of course I do," he replied stolidly. "I'm just trying to remember this feeling in vivid detail. _Of course I'm out of bloody mana. Why else would I be standing here with an arrow stuck in me_?"

When Lía narrowed her grey eyes at him, his mouth snapped shut.

"Sarcasm isn't going to help you," she murmured, looking to the arrow in order to inspect the entrance site. "It's buried fairly deep. It knew what it was doing. I'm only hoping that it went straight-" Leaning forward, she turned just enough to see the tip of the arrow sticking out the back of his robes. "- through."

Anders swayed on his feet as nausea ripped through him. "All – all the way through? It went all the way through? Does that make this more difficult? Will be you able to get it out?"

"Anders."

"You'd be asking questions if you were in _my _position!"

"The first time I was shot through with an arrow, I was hardly nine. It was the worst pain I'd ever felt, and I cried like a baby." Pulling herself up to her full height, she looked down at him, her head tilted slightly to the side. "The next time I was shot, I didn't even notice until someone pointed it out. Think of this as a learning experience."

"You know, somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better."

A small smile quirked in the corner of her mouth. "Didn't mean for it to," she replied, the tiny smile morphing into a grin at Anders' dramatized expression of helplessness. "Velanna, we need your help."

The elf nearly bristled, but she thought better of it, choosing to move over to them instead. Curiosity donned upon her when she saw the arrow poking out of Anders' hip. She took a step forward, between him and Lía, and bent to take a closer look. "The nock looks more finely carved than the ones we usually come across. Hurlock, yes?" When Lía nodded, she turned to it again, making no attempt at gentleness when she moved it upwards.

Even the smallest movements had Anders shrinking backwards, his open palms waving in front of her. "That's _not_ necessary. I just want it out of me, then we can get back to the Keep. I can heal it myself."

"I am only checking to see if it might be poisoned."

"_Poisoned_?"

"It's a distinct posibility," Lía chimed in from Velanna's side. "There was a vial of something on its belt."

Anders' warm brown eyes turned solid as they flared wide, but the size doubled farther when Velanna spoke. "I won't be able to tell for sure with your robes on."

"Right _here_? We're in the middle of the path. Anyone could come along!"

"And your wound may be festering with darkspawn poison as we speak."

"Frankly, I'd rather -"

Lía crossed her arms. "Anders, take off your robes, or I'll be remove them myself." Her voice lowered to a tone that would have sounded threatening if not for the subject. "And we have no extras in our packs. So either you're in your smalls _now_, or you'll be walking the rest of the way to the Keep without a scrap of clothing on you."

His jaw slackened. He really_ hated _her sometimes. He was so torn between blinding pain, frustration, modesty, annoyance, and _arousal _that he could hardly cobble together enough words to tell Velanna to stop leaning so close to the entry point.

"Does it have to be right here? In the middle of the path?" he asked. Lía felt her resolve nudged more towards concern and farther away from anger at herself for not purchasing more potions while she was in Amaranthine. He could do that, and it frustrated her. One pathetic gleam in those eyes of his, and she was suddenly less terrifying Warden-Commander and more pudding.

"Fine. _Fine." _Pulling Velanna out of the way, she held out both of her large hands. "Give me the bandages and the alcohol. You keep watch with Justice. We'll be... in the woods." When the elf handed over the needed objects and she'd left them alone, Lía shot a narrowed gaze at Anders. "You've never had trouble getting out of your robes before."

"Different situation," he replied through gritted teeth. When he continued, she had to physically repress the urge to smack him on the head. "Very different case when you're out of your armor."

"Get your arse in the woods."

He obeyed her order despite the amusement in her voice, as he wanted this damned thing out of his hip as soon as was possible. The fact that his limp and the pain worsened with every step only intensified his desire to rip it right out of him. Even so, he knew that was hardly an option. It'd only cause him more pain and perhaps even permanent damage.

Once they were alone, she came to a halt directly in front of him. "Do you want me to help you, or can you manage yourself?"

"I can't bend," he murmured, "So unless you'd like the slowest striptease ever witnessed, I could use your help."

"Well..."

"Help. Please."

Chuckling, Líadan took a long step forward. "Of course I'll help you." Her hands went to his collar, fingers slipping beneath the feathered shoulder pads and lifting them upwards. He shut his eyes as she pulled them over his head and let them fall onto the ground. "So you've really never taken an arrow before?" she asked, brows cinching together as she fussed with the thin golden lace that held the top of his robes together.

"I've gotten scrapes," he said. His eyes were downcast as he watched her work, unable and unwilling to interrupt her concentration. "But I've never actually been shot through with one. Archers are usually the first to go. I make sure of that."

"Never been in a fight with a sniper, either, I wager?"

"How could you tell?" Swallowing hard as he watched her hand move to the dagger at her hip. "What are you doing?"

"I have to cut the fabric around the arrow so I can remove it," she explained, not even noticing as the mage cringed at the sound of the robe ripping. With her dagger pulled away, he felt her hand slip through the gash in the fabric, the rough pad of her thumb running along the dip just beside where the arrow protruded from him. "It's not nearly as bad as I expected. And it's not poisoned."

He swayed forward, though this time he had to rest his hand on her shoulder to keep from falling forward. "Not as bad, huh? That's – that's good to hear."

"Stay here, Anders," she said, giving the skin a rough pinch that flung his eyes open wide again. "I know it hurts. Just... focus."

"Focus. I can focus."

She gave him a small smile. "That's good to hear."

He didn't put up a fight when she finally removed his robes and set about cleaning the wound. He hardly felt a thing as she poured the alcohol onto two bandages packed closely together and cleaned the area around the arrow. He was so focused on the top of her head, on her thick, black brows and the bump in the bridge of her nose, that he could hardly hear anything besides his own breathing.

When the arrow was finally removed and the bandages were applied, Lía stood before him, the darkspawn arrow held in her hand. "Would you like to keep it? To commemorate your first arrow?"

Snatching the thing away from her, Anders broke it in two and threw it to the side. "No thank you," he chuckled with a shake of his head. "Thank you for doing this yourself. I know you hate dealing with this sort of thing."

Her fingers went to his hair, combing it back away from his face. "I don't hate it because I don't want to help. I hate it because I'm usually so bad at it. When you get back to the Keep, you should see one of the mages. They can fix it better than I could."

"I don't know. You did a fairly good job for a woman whose idea of tact is saying 'you're welcome' after stabbing someone in the throat."

Lía gave a snort of laughter. "You're delirious."

"I'm _right_."

"Delirious."

"Maybe, but it doesn't make me any less right."

Sighing heavily, her hands settled on either side of his throat, her palms resting against the slope of his neck and her thumbs running over the curve of his jaw. Without another word, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his in a small kiss. He was a lot stronger than he gave himself credit for. Once the initial surprise had worn off, he hadn't so much as whimpered when she broke the tip off of the arrow and removed it. "We should get back to the others before they leave without us."

Lía was no more than a few steps away when she heard Anders clear his throat from behind her. She twisted, the balls of her feet crushing the leaves beneath her. He was half-leaning against the tree where they'd been standing. "You have to slow down."

Her brows shot upward, and she strayed there for a moment before walking back over to him. "Would you like me to carry you, Ser Gimp?"

"Oh, ha ha, very funny."

Giving his temple a peck of a kiss, she smiled, her arm swooping around his back to shoulder most of his weight. He went willingly, more than content enough with himself to not be in the slightest bit wary of being assisted by a woman. "I thought it was."

_

**A/N:** This was written for a fill at the Dragon Age kinkmeme, but then I realized I had "strip" as one of my prompts! So I figured, "why the hell not?" ;)


	19. Protection

**prompt : protection**

"I've got to _go_."

Líadan stopped cold in her tracks. Those were the exact words she did _not_ want to hear, especially not in that voice or with that very specific emphasis. Turning on her heel, she aimed an unimpressed look in Anders' direction, arms folding over her chest. "Then go," she told him simply, brows peaking in challenge. She could see the mage shift on his feet.

"You weren't listening to me earlier, were you?" he asked, "I was _serious_, you know."

"Oh, no, I heard you." Lía's voice remained deadpan, despite the fact that she was laughing on the inside. "I just thought you were having me on."

Oghren heaved a snort of laughter. "That was terror I heard in those words. He wasn't joking around."

Anders shot a thinly veiled glare at the dwarf. So what if he was right? Pointing that sort of thing out just wasn't right. Oghren didn't so much as flinch, and he heard Nathaniel let go of a quiet chuckle. How could either of them be so _nonchalant_ in a place like this? There was a Pit of Death not a ten minute walk in the other direction! A Pit of Death filled with Assorted Limbs and Countless Other Horrors, no doubt.

His demeanor changed entirely when he looked back to their fearless leader. "Look." Sighing, his eyes turned away from hers for a moment as he contemplated what he wanted to say. Thought had him chewing on his bottom lip, and eventually he held out his open palms to her. "Maker _knows_ what's in these bushes. From what we've already seen, I'd rather not find out. Not alone, at least."

"Maker's breath, you _were_ serious."

His posture straightened. "Of course I was serious. I have my dignity, you know. I wouldn't go about just _saying_ things like that."

"So you want me to go with you into the bushes." He nodded; her features distorted in a mixture of both surprise and discomfort. "So you can... relieve yourself."

"Just a quick – "

Lía's hands flew up, waving a bit in mid-air. "No. No, I don't want to hear the details."

"Oh, you'll be hearing the details," Oghren said, giggling. "You'll be hearing 'em as they sprinkle all over the leaves."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, groaning inwardly at just how crass the dwarf could be.

When Anders saw Lía's face drain of color, he was half-afraid she wouldn't agree. She'd push him into the bushes and tell him to go. Alone. Knowing his luck, the moment his robes were up around his waist, the tree at his back would come to life. He didn't want to think about where those branches could go.

_Ugh_, he thought, the corners of his mouth twisting downward, _you're thinking about where those branches could go_.

"Look." The Commander looked at him, thick brow arched. "You don't have to _listen_. Just... stand near me. And close your ears. Maker knows what would happen if I got him to follow me," he finished, jerking his head in Oghren's direction.

"What? 'Fraid the mood will take me, and you might end up with a bellyful of ol' Oghren?"

Nate let out a low sound torn somewhere between a low-pitched whine and a gag of revulsion, his hand flying up to cup his forehead. "That's disgusting."

"It's a concern," Anders replied tightly. When he looked back to Lía, his eyes were wide and full of almost childlike pleading. She couldn't help but feel a little pang of sympathy in her chest. "Please, Lía? I'll never ask anything of you again, I _promise_."

"Fine. _Fine_. Get your arse into the bushes."

The two others exchanged a look as Líadan pointed off to the side in the direction she expected him to take. Luckily they'd already left a path of charred sylvans in their wake. There would be no vines in unexpected places today. That in itself was enough to let Anders relax the slightest bit as he led the way to the nearest secluded area.

It didn't take long after entering these woods for him to be reminded of how much he absolutely hated nature. After spending such a long time in the Tower, all of the animals and bugs and other dangers were too much for him. He could do without all of it and be content. In fact, in times like these, he'd have preferred sitting near some fire or at the very most watching all of this _nature_ out of one of the Tower's windows.

Anders shuffled behind one of the taller bushes, shooting nervous looks over his shoulder towards the back of Lía's head. Once he was reminded she was still there, he began pulling up the hem of his robes, his hips gyrating and feet stomping impatiently at the ground as he fought against the painful tension in his belly.

"By all means, take all the time in the world," he heard behind him, startling him enough to force him to drop his robes. He cursed under his breath, now very nearly bouncing, as he began pulling it up again. "It's not like we have an insane Dalish to find or anything." She shifted on her feet, arms crossing. "The fate of Amaranthine's trade lies upon how quickly you can take a piss."

"No pressure or anything," he muttered, his head tilting back and eyes closing the moment he felt that pressure begin to abate.

That was when Lía actually began to laugh. It was more of a chuckle, really, but the sound was so jarring he nearly ruined his boots. Why couldn't she be sodding quiet? Did she _want_ them to be caught like this? Still, he couldn't help but grin to himself when he heard her murmur something under her breath.

"I swear, Anders, the things I do for you."


	20. Power

**A/N: **Annnnd Dry Your Wings is _officially_ rated M! Hahaha. I wrote this for the DA kink meme the other day and toyed around with the idea of posting it. Then I figured - hey, it's Lía and Anders. Why shouldn't I post it? So... yeah, if you're not into smut, you really shouldn't read this. It's nothing horribly graphic, really, but there is sexytiem. There's also a bit of banter, but it's _mostly_ sexytiem.

* * *

**prompt : power**

Líadan Cousland was very good at surprises.

This in and of itself was odd. She was nearly half a foot taller than he was with wide set shoulders and the grace of a drunken bronto. Not only that, but her lack of tact could be compared to one, too, if brontos were capable of being tactful. She was crass at times and so rough around the edges he often wondered if she wasn't a Cousland at all, but some wild child brought into Highever out of the forest like she'd told him once.

Taking all of this into account, his shock wasn't at all unwarranted when he suddenly felt quite a bit... drained. It was true that the warrior woman sitting astride his lap could "drain" him like very few ever had, but this was different. This was almost painful; painful and familiar.

Groaning, Anders tilted his head back until it hit the headboard. "You _bitch_," he laughed, the column of his throat bouncing, "what was that for?"

"You were about to try something," Lía replied simply, bending her head to nip at his neck. Her calloused hands smoothed over his chest, her fingertips digging just above his collarbones as she tilted her hips forward. "I could feel it in your palms." Pulling back just enough to look directly into his face, she arched a thick brow, her forehead wrinkling. "And don't lie. I think by now I'd know."

"You could've said something," he said as his palms smoothed up her waist. "Warned me, told me you were about to suck me dr – oh, Maker."

Her teeth flashed as she bit down on the slope of his neck, laving her tongue over the little white marks she'd left behind . A spark of pain shot up his throat, and he groaned once again, this one originating deep in his stomach. "Stop pouting." Planting kisses upwards until she met his jaw, she sighed, a warmth blooming over his skin. "You can't use your magic all of the time, you know. Sometimes I'd like the upper hand."

"Upper hand? When do you _not_ have the upper hand?" he asked, tilting his chin down a little to show that he was genuinely curious. If there was anyone used to having this illusive "upper hand," it was her. The Hero of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey wasn't often on the other side of things.

Lía just barely managed a husky chuckle before she sucked his earlobe into her mouth, her teeth grazing over it. When she released it, she pressed her cheek to his, her lips hovering just beside his ear. "You should really stop talking."

"Me? Stop tal-" Anders gasped as she rolled her hips forward, grinding down against his still clothed self. "Fine, fine, I understand. St-stopping."

When she pulled back, it only took a moment before Anders' hands dove into the thick of her black hair, tugging her forward once again. Ignoring the clicking of their teeth and the gasp of surprise from her, he pulled her as close as he was able. One hand rested between her shoulders while the other fell to her hips, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric of her shirt. Without the added heat from his hands, there was a coolness to his touch that very nearly gave her chills.

Tearing herself away from the kiss, her hands went to the hem of her shirt. She removed his hands with an eager force before pulling it quickly over her head and tossing it away. Her intent was to dive back into the kiss, but her plans were turned over when she felt his lips close over a nipple.

She'd never been one to bother with binds when she wasn't in her armor. Her breasts were nearly nonexistent, leaving her no reason to care. That in no way stopped the wash of pleasure that rolled over her when she felt his tongue draw a nimble circle over the peak. It was her turn to comb through his hair, her hands cupping just beneath the back of his head. Unconsciously, she pressed his face even tighter against her, and he replied with a moan against her, nibbling at the sensitive skin.

It wasn't until his fingers dipped down beneath her trousers that he pulled back. She huffed her annoyance, opening her eyes to look into his. He was staring up at her, brows hitched so high they nearly met his hairline. "So you came prepared this time."

Despite the rough undertone in his voice, Lía laughed. "I almost knocked you unconscious the last time I had to take off my smalls. Of course I came prepared."

Anders bit back the urge to rub the back of his head. Granted, they'd been in much closer quarters at the time. While she hadn't knocked him unconscious, she had managed to give him a nasty bloody nose. Getting a knee to the face was never fun. "At least you apologized."

"I made you _cry_," she said, her words interwoven with a chuckle that made her shoulders bounce.

His hand slid up her now still shoulder until it was cupping the side of her neck, a pathetic expression falling over his face. She hated it when he did that. The moment his bottom lip began to poke out, she was utterly unable to keep herself from getting a bit short of breath. "Well, what else is new?"

"Don't make that face at me right now," she muttered, leaning forward to nip at his nose, "else you render me unwilling to screw such an adorable man into oblivion."

Her cheeks twitched in a hidden smile when she saw him lick his lips, his eyebrows knitting as his eyes hardened. It was amazing what a little incentive could do. In fact, it was almost as amazing as the change that overcame him once the pout was no more. How one man could so easily go from such a sweet expression to one so roguish, she'd never know. Not that she really cared.

"Who're you calling adorable?" he grunted, rendering her completely useless from another wave of laughter that washed over her. His serious face cracked into a boyish grin the moment her forehead came to rest on his shoulder. "You stop that, woman. You're ruining the mood."

Instead of replying, she passed her tongue over his shoulder, reveling in the salt that she drew back, his skin already covered in a thin sheen of sweat from their earlier exertions, no matter how innocent in comparison to what he had in mind when he felt her arch her back. Her stomach was hard against his much softer one, but when his hands fell to grip at her hips, he delighted in the exaggerated curve of them. It was a constant annoyance in her eyes; the Cousland women often had such troubles finding a decent suit of armor because of it. But that didn't stop Anders from enjoying them. Thoroughly.

Lía began tugging at the laces of her trousers, her hands tangling with his as he strove to do the same. Eventually, she was forced to smack his away in order to concentrate, her attention already divided between removing them and teasing the dip of his shoulder with even more kisses.

When the ties were finally undone, she rolled off of him and onto her back. Her trousers were hardly an inch lower when she felt his exquisitely soft palm on her lower stomach, his fingertips tracing a circle beneath her belly button.

"Stop that," she said, though the fact that her voice was little more than a purr proved she meant otherwise. Her demand was denounced further when his mouth met the tender skin just below her jaw, and her lips parted to release a growl of a moan, her blunt nails digging into his forearm. She didn't stop him. She didn't force his hand away. Instead, she let him continue, her eyes falling shut as her hips lifted upwards to meet him.

But before she could feel the rush she was sure he'd give her, he stopped. When she cracked open her eye, she saw that he was pulling down her trousers in a surprisingly polite manner. "What'd... what'd you do that for?"

"You won't let me use my magic," he quipped, biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. It really was unfair that she was willing to use her templar training against him. They were comfortable enough now for it not to trigger anything unsavory, but that didn't change the fact that she should've warned him. "Figured you could do with a little disappointment, too."

"Selfish bastard."

His eyes snapped towards her, and she tilted her head away from him, failing to stifle a giggle.

Once her trousers were removed, all it took was a bit of a push to knock him onto his back. The bed groaned beneath them as she tossed a leg over him, her knee digging into the mattress as she began tugging his robes downward. In her haste, she'd very nearly ripped them when peeling them down to his waist earlier. She fingered a bit of pulled fabric before sliding down just enough to finish the job.

Her hand found its way up his now bare thigh just as her eyes did, fingers smoothing over the sprinkling of blonde hair. He was already somewhat ready, but this was fixed once her palm smoothed up the length of him. It would be impossible to tell if this was because of the friction of her hand brushing against his cock or the way she was staring up at him. He wasn't about to take his time to find out, either.

Murmuring quietly, Anders pressed the crown of his head into the pillow, the curve of his lower back lifting from the mattress.

"Don't tease," he whispered, his voice gone husky.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she gave him one last cursory pass of her hand before sliding farther up his body. "I'm not teasing." She leaned down at that, her chest resting against his as she settled herself on top of him. He could feel the wet heat of her just beneath where he wanted her. Instead, he was caught between their stomachs, and her constant, if slight, movements were driving him insane.

"Maker's breath, woman, get on top of me and shut that mouth of yours." Despite the fact that he was near delirious from desire already, he couldn't keep a straight face at his comment. His lips cracked into an open-mouthed smile when he heard her give an offended gasp and felt her smack him on his chest.

"And if I don't?"

There was an edge of warning in her voice, but he narrowly avoided it, his eyes still closed as a small sound of pleasure left him. "I'm not helpless, you know," he replied, a distinct tremble in his words. Not from fear, but from an overwhelming desire to flip her over onto her back and take her how he wanted her. "I don't need my magic to get the upper hand."

A quiet growl left her throat as she slid forward. He dug his head deeper into the pillow the moment he felt her thighs part around his waist instead of his hips, heels pressing into the mattress. Her mouth moved from his throat to his jaw to his mouth, her tongue diving unceremoniously between his lips. She pushed right past his teeth, the agile muscle swirling around his own.

When she pulled away, he could feel a hitch in her breath where it met his chin. "I'd wager that you do," she whispered, delighting in his sharp intake of breath when she rolled her hips forward.

Truth be told, she could hardly see straight. She was too turned on; it couldn't be healthy. But she enjoyed messing with Anders far too much to be straight-forward, to admit that she'd willingly turn over onto her back for him. She wanted him to fight her for it, and she wanted him to do it without the aid of his magic.

So when she felt him arch completely off of the bed, his hips pushing against hers, it was her turn to be surprised. His hand was surprisingly strong, just as his grip was far tighter than she'd ever imagined on her upper arm. He pressed her back into the mattress, using his own weight to hold her down despite her initial struggles. "You're lucky I don't take coin from women," he murmured, his eyes finally opening a little.

Between his heavy lids and the weight of him pressing down onto her, Lía felt as if she'd be consumed by her own cloying need to feel him inside of her. And she very nearly was before she felt his knee heft her leg up. That was all it took for her resolve to melt in onto itself, leaving her shifting incessantly beneath him, her grey eyes wide and staring up at him as he ran the very tip of himself over her folds.

He was actually teasing her.

She was going to kill him.

This threat quickly turned on its head when her hips shifted downward suddenly. It was enough to startle him, his own thrusting backwards in surprise. The distance was enough for her to clench her thighs together, her eyes narrowing up at him despite her labored breath. She wanted him. She wanted him _badly_, but that wouldn't stifle her pride.

Anders cursed, his nails gripping onto her thigh as he bucked forward, his cock sliding over the dip between her thighs. Even if he couldn't be inside of her like this, that wouldn't stop him. He was nothing if not efficient.

Gripping onto her thigh even tighter, he continued forward, holding her as close to him as he could. The friction was enough to elicit a deep-seated moan from the mage. He was too distracted to even notice her leaning her head back down against the mattress, her lips parting as she mirrored his sounds. Her palm slid over her stomach, growing dangerously close to her thighs, when it paused, hovered there for a moment, and then fell to press against her lower stomach. This really wouldn't do.

Before he was able to get ahead of himself, Lía sat up, her large hands impacting his shoulders with such force he was thrown onto his back. She was on top of him in a moment, not even bothering to give him time to scramble into position. Her fingers drove into his hair, lifting his head and shoulders off of the bed as she straddled him, their lips meeting in silent, needy thanks when she felt him guide his length into her.

She didn't even bother to pull out of the kiss before letting out a quiet cry. The vibrations against his lips brought forth one in response, his hands clasping onto her hips as he pulled her down on top of him.

They were not gentle, though this was not surprising. Her recent absence from the Keep had drove them both a little crazy from want. Ever since the first time they'd been together, there wasn't a stretch of time longer than a few days when they weren't able to have sex. By the end of her trip into Denerim, the very thought of what was waiting her back at the Keep made her soak her smalls.

Every time he rocked into her, she responded by pressing down on top of him even harder. In no more than a few moments, they were both panting into the kiss, their breath all but stolen away from the almost overwhelming pleasure that thrummed through their bodies. They were all tongues and teeth and nails, biting and sucking messily at the others' mouth, entirely unable and unwilling to steady or slow themselves.

All of a sudden, a sharp chill shot through her spine. His magic was returning. She could feel his palms changing from hot to cold. She could feel static coursing over the swells of her hips. But what would happen if she negated those powers now?

Deciding that her curiosity coupled with the need to just have _him _far outweighed the possible consequences, Lía's hands gripped down onto his shoulders, and she scrapped together just enough concentration to steal his magic away from him again.

Anders tore his lips away from hers. He'd felt the magic rising again in his veins, filling him, but he'd also felt the feeling of her around him becoming dull. The clarity he acquired without his powers had slowly begun to leave him. But when he felt her templar training dip beneath his skin and rip those powers out of him a second time, it felt as if he'd jumped into a wave. He rose and then fell, the deadened perception ebbing and giving way to that renewed presence of mind.

He came with a strength he'd never felt before in his entire life. Every muscle in his body tensed. Heels dug into the mattress just as his head slammed backwards, his shoulders pressing down as his back arched without the slightest provocation. And Anders _screamed._

The rush of delight that filled her merged with the grinding of Anders' lower stomach between her thighs, and that was enough to pull her along right after him. Her eyes slammed shut as an equally strong orgasm took hold of her, but despite the power behind it, she did not stop moving. She continued her quick, almost exhausting pace, a droplet of sweat rolling its way down between her shoulder blades.

It wasn't until he physically pushed her off of him that she stopped, flipping over onto her back just beside him. Her arm draped over her stomach, and she tilted her head to the side, watching his chest rise and fall just as quickly as her own.

Anders stared up at the ceiling, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. He couldn't believe she'd done that not once, but _twice_. What did it matter that she'd given him, by far, the greatest orgasm he'd ever achieved? That wasn't the point. "You know," he said in little more than a gasp, "you really should apologize for doing that again."

Lía rolled her eyes before shutting them, jerking her head in the direction of the wall opposite her. "I'd sooner jump out of that window over there."

She paused, rolling her head over to face him again. Placing a clumsy kiss onto his shoulder, she smiled up at him, if a bit weakly. "You should probably thank me, actually."

"Thank you." Cracking an eye open, he tilted his chin down to look at her. "See? Agreeing isn't so hard."

"Do you really want to do this now, Anders?"

He shook his head, rolling over onto his side. Despite the fact that his arms felt like they were made of some sort of fruit preserve, he curled one around her, lifting her just far enough off of the bed to tuck his hand beneath her. "No," he smiled, giving her swollen lips a peck of a kiss. Lingering there for a moment, he gave her another. This one was softer; slower. "Not _now, _anyway."

Lía pulled away, narrowing her eyes at him.

Then they both laughed.


	21. Overnight

**prompt : overnight**

"Stop _squirming_ and I'll be able to get these off faster," Anders growled as he gave one of the straps of her pauldron an unnecessarily rough tug.

Líadan grimaced, staring down at her gauntlet. "You're going this on purpose."

"Would you prefer it if I didn't do it at all?"

Rolling her eyes skyward, she rolled her shoulder into the molded shoulder of her armor. "Just hurry up. If you want to set up your tent before it starts to rain." She flexed her fingers and looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "Unless you'd rather sleep with –"

"I could manage. As long as you don't squirm as much as you're-" he gave another buckle the same tug; this time it was enough to send her lurching down to his height, "-squirming-," he began plucking at the laces that kept it attached to her arming jacket, "now."

Lía huffed, snatching the pauldron out of his hand and casting it to the ground beside her pack. "Unless you'd rather sleep with Oghren. You should know better than to interrupt a lady when she's speaking."

"That'd be sound advice," he muttered, removing her elbow cover and rerebrace from the same arm, "if I were talking to a lady."

Removing Lía's armor was one of the least pleasant things he could think of doing at that very moment. Nathaniel was no doubt having a whale of a time putting up his tent in comparison. And Oghren was the only person he knew that never _stopped_ having a good time. Being a perpetual drunk could do that to a person, he supposed.

Leaning forward, Anders peered at her gauntlets. "D'you want me to tend to those, or do you think you'd be able to manage them?"

"I am not afraid to punch the healer," she said, voice low, as she began working at the buckles. It was difficult work, removing them with the use of a single hand. Biting at the leather, she gave one of the buckles an unceremonious tug, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards at the sight of it releasing the strap. "Just remember that."

"And then you'd be sleeping in your armor," Anders replied smoothly.

"I've done it before."

Moving behind her, his nimble fingers made quick work of the clasps of her breastplate. The muscles of his arms clenched as it opened, and he moved it aside, casting a curious look up at her. "And was it comfortable?"

"... No."

He grinned. "Exactly."

Lía let out a low grumble that might've been a whine if emitted from anyone else. "Just take it _off_."

Stifling a laugh, Anders tilted his chin down and looked at her, brows arched high on his forehead. His hands moved to his robes, fingers working effortlessly at the laces that kept it tied around the back of his neck. "All you had to do was ask."

"Hey! He-ey, none of that." Just as the words were out out of her mouth, something in the weather changed. She heard the tell-tale sound of rain hitting the canvas above their heads, and this was only barely enough to mask the sound of the leather palm of her remaining gauntlet smacking into the middle of her forehead. "Oh, Maker's holy _ass_."

"Ah, well, looks like I'll be bunking here tonight," he sighed, "Rain and all."

A thick index pointed directly into his face. "Stop taking off your robes. I've heard you and Nate. I'd rather not be cold and damp_ and_ aware that _that _is anywhere near me."

No manner of pouting could get Lía to change her mind on the subject, so he didn't even attempt to do so. Instead, he helped her with the rest of her armor, setting it aside carefully despite the fact that she was wont to toss it wherever there was room for it to land. When she was left in an admittedly damp and incredibly clingy shirt and trousers, she prepared her bedroll and slid beneath her furs, gesturing to the spot at her side.

He either didn't spot the gesture, or he ignored it, choosing instead to walk in small circles in an attempt to find a dry spot. "Anders," she near-shouted to be heard above the now much louder rain. "Get in."

"And have you crush me in your sleep? I think I'll pass."

"_Get in_."

The finality in her tone was what drove him to drop onto his knees and wriggle onto the strip of cushion, more than happy to abide by her orders more out of the realization that she really would crush him anyway if he didn't do as he was told when she was tired.

"I'll have you know," he murmured, turning over onto his side, "that I don't really want to be here. This was your decision."

Shutting her eyes, Lía crossed her arms and dug the back of her head into the bedroll. "Trust me. I know."

"Oh, alright." He shifted on the bedroll, his chest bumping into her arm. "Glad we cleared that up."

"Anders."

Yawning, he shut his eyes and curled his arms up against his chest. "Mm?"

"Stop talking."

Being the light sleeper that he was, Anders woke many times during the night. Not only was Lía a squirmer – as he'd predicted – but she snored. Quite loudly. How he hadn't known this before, he wasn't sure. But of all the things that surprised him, everything else paled in comparison to the sensation of her arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him close. She was surprisingly warm, and he found a sleepy smile curving at the corner of his mouth as her hand stroked at his back.

Even if he wasn't a naughty chevalier and he wasn't exactly sure what that murmured string of (poor) Orlesian meant, it didn't take him long to realize that he would be perfectly okay with pretending to be one, but only for that night.


	22. Sick

**A/N:** One part of two in a short little mini-series! I don't do enough of these connecting stories.

* * *

They were on their way back from the Circle when she heard him sniffle.

At first, she didn't think much of it. Maybe he'd gotten a whiff of Oghren. Maybe she'd kicked up a bit of dust from the road by accident. It wasn't until they were settling in to make camp that she realized it hadn't just been any sort of sniffle.

The look Velanna gave him as he began preparing dinner for the lot of them could have easily lit the fire by sheer will alone. She was perched on an overturned stump, her back straight, nostrils flared and lip curled. While the elf looked at _everyone_ in such a way, she'd relaxed in recent weeks and this quick change for the worse had Lía suspicious.

After she'd put her things away, Lía nearly collapsed next to the fire, grinning to herself when Anders lurched forward to circle a protective arm around the pot. "I won't tip it _over_," she chuckled, stretching out her legs as much as she could in the small space that extended between her and the fire.

"I'm just being careful, is all," he replied curtly, lifting his sleeve to rub at his nose.

Leaning towards him, she gave his arm a nudge. "What's wrong? You've been really quiet today."

Anders shrugged her hand away and turned towards his stew. Without looking up, he could see Velanna shift on her stump, recoiling slightly the moment his hand touched the spoon in the pot. "Nothing's wrong." As if to prove his point, he glanced over at her, a tiny smile twisting at his mouth. The grin lasted for all of a moment before contorting into a sneeze, one stifled by the fur on his shoulder.

When he pulled back, a single strand of saliva hung between him and his robes. Lía's brows shot up, lips pursed, as she watched him try to disconnect himself without rubbing his face. "Maker, that's _disgusting_," he muttered. His eyes went up to hers, brows pinching together in apology. "I think something's wrong."

"No shit," she breathed, "Come on. Stand up. You're resting." At that, Lía climbed to her feet and went to extend a hand to him. Just before he grabbed onto it, they both jerked back, thinking better of the idea. Still wanting to help him up, she curled an arm beneath his (opposite) shoulder and hoisted him onto his feet. "I'll finish the stew – Oghren, _I heard that_ – and bring you some. We can stay here until you're feeling better."

"Aww, you're gonna take care of me," he murmured, sniffing, as they made their way over to his tent, "That's sweet."

Lía laughed. "Don't push it, eh?"

Once he was settled – tucked into his bedroll up to his throat with Ser Pounce curled up beside his pillow – Lía knelt down by the fire and began working on the stew. Velanna had defrosted since Anders had been put to bed, and Oghren seemed less adverse to the idea of Lía preparing dinner when he watched her work. Her explanation was a simple one. Her nan had often let her watch her cook, and she picked up a taste for it. Not only could she cook, but she could bake a decent pie, as well. He seemed more than a little thrilled by this idea.

Scooping a few large spoonfuls out of the pot and into a bowl, Lía hefted herself up onto her feet and made her way back into Anders' tent only to find that he was sleeping. Pounce was, as well, his white paw rolling into the mage's cheek with a stretch.

Chuckling, she went onto her knees again. "Anders," she said softly, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his arm. Giving him a little shake, she watched as his nose wrinkled, his blanket rustling as he kicked a leg out from beneath it. "Anders, supper is finished. You should eat."

"Hrrgh... Irvin's permisshun ta go 'cross the lake. Swear."

"_Anders_."

"Gotta go; gunna be late."

Leaning forward, she gave the skin between his eyebrows a decisive pluck.

"**Wake up**."

Anders groaned loudly, his hand flying up to cover his forehead. "'draste's _beard_, woman. What was that for?"

"You're sick, but that doesn't mean I'm going to baby you," she said, though she helped him into a seated position, giving his pillow a well-meaning punch when Pounce scampered out of the way. "You have to eat. And nothing's worse than cold stew."

"Did Oghren give you much trouble about the cooking?" Grabbing for the bowl, Anders began spooning it into his mouth. It was obvious from the quiet slurping noises that filled the tent that he approved of her stew, much more than even his own.

Lía smiled to herself, snatching Pounce up and pulling the cat onto her lap. "Do you mean before or after he finished dipping his beard into it?"

He groaned again, brows cinching together in otherwise silent protest.

"They liked it well enough. What about you?"

All he gave was a quiet "mmm" in response. That was good enough for her. When he was finished eating, she took his bowl and waited for a moment as he settled back onto his bedroll. There was something adorable about seeing him like this, illness aside. She'd watched him turn hurlocks to ash with a flick of his wrist, and now he was snuggled up beneath a pile of blankets, hair cast around his face, with a splotchy red nose and a tiny, satisfied smile.

Before she was able to leave him there, Lía leaned into him, content in her belief that he was asleep, and placed a kiss on his forehead. The moment her lips touched however awkwardly to the hot skin, she heard him snuffle and felt him shift beneath her.

"I'm still 'wake, you know."

Rolling her eyes, she gave his forehead another, softer pluck and left the tent.

Luckily, Anders' health improved on the third day, and they were finally able to begin picking up camp to head back towards the Vigil. Velanna offered to wash the pot down by the river, and Oghren was busy... with things she would rather not intrude upon or thing much of, leaving them alone to fold up the bedrolls and fill the four packs with whatever lingered about.

Things were quiet for a long while, but the silence was broken when Anders moved up beside her. She felt a hand slide over the small of her back, smiling to herself when she felt his nose pressing into her cheek. "Thank you," he murmured, tilting his chin upwards to place a kiss just beside her ear. "I didn't think you'd be up for it."

"Oh, come off it." Setting her pack on the ground, she turned towards him, her arms circling around his waist. "Would you have preferred Velanna play nurse?"

His laughed, leaning into an embrace.

He heard similar laughter, followed by an oddly sharp intake of breath and a few sniffs. "Your hair's tickling my nose," she chuckled, leaning her cheek against his ear. It wasn't until he felt a chilly spray on his neck that he realized what had _truly_ happened.

Pawing at the dampness on his neck, Anders tried (and just barely succeeded) to keep a disgusted look from his face. "You caught it."

Lía took a step back, rolling her shoulders, "I did not."

"You _did_. Lía, I'm so sorry –"

"What're you sorry for? Nothing's wrong!" Rubbing at her nose, Lía lifted her pack and slipped it on. "Come on. Hurry up. Grab your pack. We should get back to the Keep; things are still -" Her features skewed for a moment, and her entire body convulsed as another sneeze rocked through her, loud enough to echo into the forest.

"You're sick."

"Fine. Okay. I'm sick, but we're not stopping."

"It'll get worse."

Lía barely managed a laugh before dusting it off and pulling her pack higher on her back. "Is that a threat? Was this your plan all along?"

Shaking his head, Anders pulled up his pack, waiting for a moment until Pounce jumped onto it before sliding it onto his shoulder. "You're stubborn as a mule," he muttered, but Lía was too far ahead of him to hear.


	23. Promise

**prompt : promise**

"Where, oh where, is my ickle apostate?" Líadan called out, hands poised on her hips as she glanced around the densely forested area around Vigil's Keep. It would be like him to run out and hide, wouldn't it? Or was she just not looking hard enough?

To her right, she heard the rustling of leaves, and her cheeks twitched into a tiny smile when she saw him half-stumble from between the bushes. "Please don't call me that," he laughed, smoothing his hand over his hair to make sure he hadn't gotten anything stuck in it. When his fingers grazed over a leave poking out of his ponytail, he plucked it out and shook it away. "It's embarrassing for everyone involved."

She snorted, hurrying over towards him. In one swift, ducking movement, she narrowly avoided the arm he swung open for a hug, nudging past him in the direction he game. He rolled his eyes and watched as she trampled over the underbrush without so much as a care otherwise.

"Where's my lunch? Cook said you'd taken it out into the forest." Glancing over her shoulder, her brows shot up. "Oghren thought you might be 'feeding it to the sodding bunnies.'"

Sighing, Anders took a long step over a fallen log, his robes hitched up around his shins. "Bunnies aren't much for that salty mutton you like so much," he replied, his strides quickening to catch up with her. She moved through the trees like a golem, having not a care for what she stepped on or pushed aside or what got into her braids. She'd have a forest of her own stuck in there by the time they got to the clearing. "They like vegetables."

He could hear Lía make a quiet disgusted noise up ahead, and he rolled his eyes. "No, of course not."

"So..." Anders' strides stopped when Lía paused, turning around in the very middle of the rather small path. Gray eyes narrowed at him, she pursed her lips a little, clearly stumped. "Where exactly am I going?"

"Oh? I thought you knew. You were leading."

Reaching out, Líadan grabbed his arm and moved him ahead of her, sneaking a little kiss on his pierced earlobe before nudging him farther out in front. "You're being cheeky, and I'm half-starved. Is this a wise decision? I'll let you think on that as you lead me in the direction of lunch," she said, giving him a pat on his ass.

In the end, he decided it was better to just bring her to where he'd set everything up, hoping that no animals had come along and stolen everything for fear of the reprisal.

When they arrived at their destination, they discovered that the meal remained intact. Anders even shot a look up to the sky in thanks to the Maker after watching Lía go to her knees near the unfolded satchel and grab for the first thing she saw. "Did you really doubt me? _Really_? After all this time?"

Líadan gave a little huff around the hunk of bread she was eating. Her cheeks puffed out a little as she chewed, her eyes glued to him as he went around to sit opposite her. "Of course not," she said once she'd swallowed, breaking off another piece just after, pointing it at him, "I know you." She pointed to herself. "And I know you know better than to jerk me around when it comes to food. Especially after I've spent all morning kicking Garevel around the sparring ring."

"Lia –"

"Cook really outdid herself with this bread," she muttered to herself, popping the piece into her mouth as she grabbed for some of the mutton, oblivious to Anders' interjection. "It's almost as good as the stuff I used to help Nan bake."

"_Lia_ –"

The dried meat was halfway to her mouth when she stopped talking, her eyes moving up to his. She stared at him for a long while before removing her dagger from her hip and slicing off a piece. "Hm?"

"I brought you here for a _reason_, you know," he chuckled, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck before grabbing for a roll to busy himself with. "It wasn't a whim. My whims don't include holding your precious food hostage. I'm not dim."

"I'm... Hah, well."

Lía chewed thoughtfully, her shoulders slouching. When she spoke, her voice held none of its usual dryness, replaced instead by genuine curiosity bordering upon concern. This was mirrored in the slight bunching of her brows. "Well, what? What is it?"

"I'm leaving." The words came rushing out, and his free hand smacked into his forehead, rubbing at the now-wrinkled skin as he grimaced. He'd wanted to tell her for weeks now, wanted to let her down easily, and then he went and spilled it out like it was nothing, when it'd truly been one of the more difficult decisions that he'd ever made.

He lifted his hand away from his face to see her reaction, watching her as she carefully sheathed her dagger and replaced the rest of the meat to where it'd been sitting before. "What d'you mean by that?" she asked, words weighing heavy on her tongue.

"Not _permanently_," Anders added as quickly as he could, "I didn't mean that I'm leaving for good. I just... I got word that my phylactery –"

"Let me go with you, then. I have enough clout to get it for you."

He shook his head, eyes falling before he could see her mouth open again. "I need to do this alone. I don't want to bring you into even more trouble. Your reputation's all nice and clean again; you don't need everyone to think I have you under my thumb."

"You say that like it's not the truth," Líadan muttered, her lips barely managing a twist of a smile. "Where is it?"

"Kirkwall."

"_Anders_." Lía scrambled to her feet just as his name left her throat, moving over to his side and grabbing for his face. "No. _No_, not Kirkwall. Do you have any idea how many templars...?"

He nodded, hands reaching up to rest on her wrists. His brows slid upward on his forehead as he tilted his chin down. "Yeah... I wasn't too happy about it when I heard, either. I'd rather _not_ sashay into a city practically run by them, but it's the last thing binding me to the Circle. It's all they have on me."

Leaning forward, Lía brushed her lips over his forehead. She lingered there, shutting her eyes. "So you really won't let me help you?"

"It's dangerous –"

"That's why I want to help you," she murmured, "You know that."

"And it's why I don't want you to."

Taking a shuddering breath, Lía shook her head. "You're bloody _stubborn_, you know that, right? They're not going to hunt you down. You're a Warden now." Pressing another kiss to the skin just beneath his hairline, she sighed. "Even if they did try to hunt you down, they wouldn't get to you."

"It's... not about that," she heard him whisper as he shifted a little, bringing himself back enough to look directly into her face. "I've spent _years_ trying to get away from the Circle. Even now that I'm here, it doesn't feel real. I won't actually be free of them until I _know_ – for certain – that they can't... change their minds and come after me anyway."

Lía nodded, swallowing thickly. "Since you won't be dissuaded..."

"I won't."

"I know," she said fiercely, her voice catching in her throat. "Let me finish." He passed his tongue over his lips before giving a little nod. "Since you won't be dissuaded, you have to promise me that you'll come back."

Anders' brows knitted above his nose. "Do you really think I'd just... leave?"

"Not really," Lía admitted with a wet chuckle, "but I want to hear you say that you're going to come back." Her thumbs smoothed over the stubble that covered his jaw, her eyes softening as she watched a small smile curve at the corner of his mouth. "That way, if something happens, I can be angry with you as opposed to horribly depressed."

"Oh, so this is all about _you_. I should've known."

"Stuff it," she drawled, choking a little on her tears, "Tell me you're coming back."

"I can't tell you that if you've forced me into silence."

When Lía's gaze turned into a glare, flicking up to meet his eyes with surprising, if only teasing, heat, Anders laughed, more than thankful for their inability to remain serious for any stretch of time. "Fine, fine. I'm coming back."

"Promise?"

"I _promise_."


End file.
